


Wide grey skies

by thosepreciouswalls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Developing Friendships, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Iceland, Insecurity, PMS, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, burn-out, putting the pieces back together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosepreciouswalls/pseuds/thosepreciouswalls
Summary: When you’ve had too much for too long you don’t travel to go somewhere, you travel to leave something behind. You go away to see something new, to get a break, and to be alone. Sometimes it’s a choice you make, sometimes it’s a choice made for you, and maybe in the end it doesn’t matter.Hermione Granger has done three months of her one year on a dairy farm the first time she comes across the worker from the farm next door. He runs on light feet across the mountainside, silver hair surprisingly upright in the wind, and she decides to go and introduce herself. Sometimes it’s the people you meet while looking for isolation that makes all the difference.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I found on my hard drive, a project I started several years ago. The last days I’ve been playing with the idea of continuing it past the three chapters I wrote back then. It takes place maybe seven or eight years after the last Harry Potter book and probably less than a year after the manga end of Naruto. For Naruto I’ve mostly watched the anime, but without the fillers and cut after the manga, so I’m somewhere in between the two. With Harry Potter this is based solely off the books. It’s been a while for both of them, but I hope the characters aren’t much more OOC than explained by the time gaps and change of environment, and that I haven’t made any glaringly obvious mistakes with the plots or universes. Please let me know if that’s the case!

Hermione weaves her way up the side of the mountain. Her goal is currently hidden behind a small incline, but she knows his general direction and should be able to see him soon enough. It’s been over a month since Kristín told her that there was a new worker at the farm next door, but only the last week has he shown himself, running on light feet across the mountainside. Curiosity is deeply ingrain in Hermione, a trait that has both saved and put her in danger more times than she can count. Now it’s driving her up the mountainside in search of an unknown neighbour to break up a boring day.

The last months have improved Hermione’s physique noticeably, but the steep grassy slopes still have her winded by the time she reaches the platform where she saw him fling himself out on the ground. He’s sitting up now, legs crossed in front of him in a relaxed manner that makes the pose seem comfortable. She’s never seen a hair looking so natural while styled to stand almost straight up, held in place only by a headband, and she’s spent her teenage years in a school of magic.

“Hi,” Hermione says, making a small wave that was not part of her plan. She’s sure it made her look ridiculous, but she’s never cared much about that. “I’m Hermione Granger, I work down with Kristín and Ingo.” She gestures down at the farm below them. “Mind if I join you?”

“I have a feeling you intend to.” The guy raises his eyebrows. His tone is dry but also possibly amused as far as Hermione can tell. It’s a bit hard reading him when most of his face is covered by some kind of mask. The temperature isn’t bad enough to warrant one, but maybe for someone who hasn’t lived in Scotland this qualifies as cold against bare skin.

Hermione lowers herself down where she has a stone to lean against, knowing she won’t pull of the easy grace of the guy a few feet away. Also, she really needs to stop thinking of him as _the guy_. “So, will I have to ask for your name?” She says and the guy’s eyes fold into what she assumes is a smile.

“Hata… Kakashi Hatake.” He says. By the sound of it he’s from a country that puts family names first.

Silence falls as Hermione waits for Kakashi to continue, but he doesn’t. She watches the yellow grass bending in the wind for a moment before she decides that she can do without the awkwardness. “You work at Heimstaðir?”

“Yes.” Kakashi says. “I take care of the sheep when Sunna and Þorir work.” His intonation gives away none of his feelings on the matter.

“We have dairy cows.” Hermione offers when silence is once again about to fall. “I help Kristín with the milking and feeding twice a day since Ingo’s back can’t take it anymore. This is their last year running the farm before their daughter and her husband takes over in January. They’re spending one last year in freedom travelling the world. I live in what’s becoming their house down there.” She points to the smaller of the two houses, right by the road that will half a mile later connect to Heimstaðir’s drive.

“It’s nice having my own space.” Hermione goes on when Kakashi doesn’t break in. “If a bit lonely sometimes.” She’s looking at Kakashi who mostly looks out across the valley. There’s still snow on the peaks and in the places the sun can’t reach this early in the year.

“So, how come you ended up in Iceland?” It’s a forced question, pushed forward by her trying to break up her stream of consciousness and turn this into a dialogue.

“Why does anyone end up anywhere?” Kakashi answers blandly. He smiles, and Hermione recognize the avoidance for what it is. “You?” It’s the first time Kakashi does anything to keep the conversation going. Hermione would have appreciated it more if it wasn’t obviously done to distract her. Or if it wasn’t monosyllabic.

“I think I mostly had to get away.” Hermione thinks out loud. No one here has asked her before, and she hasn’t exactly put it into words. When she left she told people she wanted to see the geysers and the horses, try out the country life, that sort of thing, but that wasn’t it. This trip had never been about going _to_ something, it was about what she left behind.

“I’ve...” She fades out, uncertain about what she was going to say. Kakashi’s looking at her now, she can feel it, but she keeps her eyes on the horizon. “Maybe I just need to find myself again.” When she says it it feels right. After everything, after Ron, after leaving the magical world, after trying her best to keep it together at a non-magical education, she’d given up. She needs to get her feet back under her. To get away from the people who keep her being someone she is more and more convinced isn’t her.

It’s slightly uncharacteristic for Hermione to be so upfront with something she feels insecure about. She’s used to knowing the answers and speaking them out loud. At the same time she’s here to make changes, and she is tired of being herself. Hermione had been the kind of girl who didn’t care what other’s thought of her. She used to believe that while not everyone would appreciate her those who did at least liked _her_ , not someone she was pretending to be. It had been unpleasant realizing she’s lost that confidence, and worse recognizing that she has traits that are downright unpleasant. Change it is then.

“So, for how long have you been here?” Kakashi’s question leads them onto safer ground. Apparently, he can keep a conversation going just fine when he’s presented with topic he wants to steer clear of. Hermione supposes she should be grateful

“Since New Year’s.” She answers. “So about three months. The rumours say you came about a month ago?”

“There’s rumours about me?” Kakashi raises his eyebrows in question and Hermione laughs. She gets the feeling he doesn’t mind.

“Of course there’s gossip. This is the countryside, not much happens and people need something to talk about. I don’t know more than when you came though, I don’t speak Icelandic so I miss a lot. How long are you here for?”

“I need to be back sometime in the autumn, so maybe until then.” Kakashi’s tone seldom leaves room for follow-up questions Hermione notices. He is friendly enough, but he’s not the easiest person to speak with.

“I’ll be here until a week before Christmas.” She says instead. “That might leave Kristín alone with the milking for a couple of days before her daughter comes home, but my parents would have fit if I didn’t show up for the holidays. I’m an only child and I went to boarding school so Christmas and the summers have always sort of been sacred family time. Since I don’t live at home in the summers anymore Christmas is just, I don’t know, Christmas you know?”

“Where I come from we don’t really celebrate Christmas.” Kakashi says.

Kakashi turns out to be from an island outside Japan, and Hermione explains the basics of a British Christmas to him. She tells him of when her grandparents where alive, how they’re down to just her and her parents now and how she sometimes wishes she’d have a sibling. She also paints the non-magical picture of Christmas with the Weasleys, and the bewilderment of her loving but decorous parents as they got pulled into the pandemonium that is her ex boyfriend’s family.

In the end the damp windy cold gets to her. She says her goodbyes and leaves Kakashi sitting in the grass looking indifferent even if he’s only dressed in a long sleeve shirt and a vest. It makes her long for warming charms. There is no such thing here though. The magic in Iceland is wild and untamed, shaped like the land it springs from and unreliable in its reactions to any wand-work. Her reason for choosing Iceland stems partly from this. Hermione still carries her wand of course, has been since the day she started Hogwarts. Even if she’s left the magical community almost two years ago she feels naked and vulnerable without it.

As Hermione settles down at her kitchen table with a cup of tea her mind has already started corrupting the encounter. It amazes her how good her brain is at this kind of things. _You ruined his afternoon,_ it’s telling her. _Why would he want to listen to you? You talk too much. He’s way too cool to hang out with you._ She tells it to shut up, but the tea feels heavy in her stomach when she meets up with Kristín to clean the stables before the evening milking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? I’d be happy to know what you think about this, and if it’s worth working on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to care less while writing this and so far it’s been a great deal of fun working like that. It’s strange, working with materials I wrote so many years ago, but I think I’ll keep at it for a while. There’ll be no promises of regular updates for this, and it runs the risk of getting major plot holes or characters turning out OOC or any number of things that come with next to no planning, but I’m going for it! The three first chapters are being revised to get the worst mistakes out, and I’m working on a fourth. Let’s see where it leads us (and let me know if you’ve got ideas for where that might be, maybe I can make it happen).

 

For most of his first month at Heimstaðir Kakashi sleeps. Twice a day he goes to the barn and feeds the sheep, in the evenings he eats dinner with his hosts Sunna and Þorir, and the rest of the time he spends in his bedroom. The waking hours are divided between lying on his bed looking at the ceiling or sitting in his armchair looking out the window. It’s hard to say if the hollowness of his mind wears him down or bores him out, but when it does he falls asleep. Usually he wakes feeling even more tired. If this is some kind of undetectable genjutsu draining his energy, it’s been around since the end of the Fourth War. Given the company Kakashi keeps it is unlikely such a thing would have gone unnoticed, but you could never know. He tries disrupting his chakra flow a few times, to make sure, but nothing changes.

It comes to the point where he feels like sleeping forever might be a valid lifegoal. He orders himself to get up then, and only a life of military discipline allows him to get dressed and go outside. Whatever this is, especially if it’s a genjutsu, he will not let it beat him.

With little else to do Kakashi runs. All use of justus and the likes are forbidden which render practicing any actual combat skills impossible, but at least he can keep in shape. Without using chakra to boost him he runs until his legs are stiff and shaky. He knows he’s fit by a civilian’s standard but compared to what he’s used to it still surprises him how slow he runs, and for how short distances. Stopping himself from finding footholds by channeling chakra takes most of his focus and keeps his mind comfortably occupied. After so many years as a shinobi it’s second nature to him to _not_ sink down in the water that hides under the grass in some places. As he’s still learning to properly read the ground up on the hillside it takes a lot of willpower to allow his feet to get wet.

With the taste of blood on his tongue and his pulse beating throughout his head Kakashi lets gravity bring him down on some random spot of decently dry and flat grass that is somewhat protected from the ever-present wind. He lies there, struggling to get his breath back, watching the sky. For that short time every day he feels fully alive, and that’s all the proof he needs that this is not a genjutsu. The chill in the air usually registers at the same time as the blankness trickles back into his head. He gets up then and makes his way back to the farm.

The day after Hermione showed up is the first time Kakashi deliberately chooses a specific turf for his rest. It’s the same one where she joined him, and maybe it’s an invitation for her to come back. Kakashi is not convinced he wants her to, yet here his is.

Hermione, with her straightforward, continuous stream of small-talk makes Kakashi wary. He’s not used to such bluntness in any issues that can be considered personal, or even worse; emotional. Konoha shinobi, Kakashi very much included, wouldn’t dream of admitting to such things as loneliness or feeling lost. Kakashi is convinced they all carry darkness inside of them from time to time, but they deal with it as shinobi should: Quietly and on their own.

“Góðan daginn” Hermione says as she reaches Kakashi. He can feel his hair moving as he nods along with his “yo!”

Folding with her hands on her knees Hermione huffs out a breath and then pushes herself up. “I can’t believe you actually go _running_ here.” A hand comes up to remove a strand of wildly curly hair that has fallen across her face. “It’s steep, and uneven, and I’m ridiculously winded from just walking the closest route.”

“Hm,” Kakashi says, “it’s a good challenge I think. Keeps me in shape.” Hermione sits down uninvited this time, legs stretched out in front of her in a very civilian manner.

“Yeah?” Hermione questions. “You do trail running or something similarly crazy?”

The open curiosity is strange, even if Kakashi should be prepared this time. Pictures of training and jutsus, missions and war, teammates and death, flash before Kakashi’s eyes and for a moment he considers lying. Saying yes would be _simple_. In the end he settles for something closer to the truth and in line with the cover Tsunade gave him. He is not fond of outright lies and his cover is probably all over the grape wine as it is. Hermione will hear about it soon enough.

“I’m a soldier.” He allows. It’s a redacted truth, but as close as he can come without spilling secrets that he has swore to keep. He could maybe have used the word mercenary because most of his life he’s been just that if in a slightly more formal setting. He has, however, been told that translation that can get adverse reactions from people. Apparently making a living the way shinobi do isn’t uncomplicated in large parts of the world.

“And now you’re here feeding sheep?” Hermione asks, looking intrigued. Since it’s not a question that needs an answer Kakashi shrugs and turns to look out over the valley. The broken cloud cover allows for splashes of sunlight to travel across the ground at moderate speed. He’s getting used to the absence of threes and greenery, and the sky that goes on forever. It’s easy to feel insignificant here.

Kakashi thinks of pulling out his ever-present book to dissuade any further questioning but decides against it. He’s not convinced it’ll work on Hermione anyway.

“Now I’m even more curious about how you ended up here.” Hermione could have easily phrased it as a question, but she doesn’t. Kakashi is grateful, and maybe that’s why he chooses to answer.

“My boss told me it was a mission.” He says, folding his eyes into a smile that never reaches his lips. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, but he’s not happy about it either. “Said it was S-rank, a personal favor where she needed someone she could trust.” He doesn’t say out loud that it clearly was a lie. Hermione will figure that out or she won’t. He definitely doesn’t tell her about the letter Tsunade sent him, telling him as much.

Hermione stays silent, and it drags words out of Kakashi he didn’t plan to share. “She apparently thought I needed a break.” It’s what she wrote after all, and a plain and simple fact like that can stand being shared. He doesn’t mention the feeling of being exiled, nor the absolute certainty that she’d done it to keep him from becoming Hokage now that he’s lost his sharingan. Not that he thinks he _should_ be Hokage, but it would have been nice to have her say it out loud or not at all. Tsunade is not known for circumventing issues like this.

 “Did you?” Hermione asks when it’s clear Kakashi’s not adding anything else. “Need a break I mean,” she clarifies when he fails to answer. As if he hadn’t understood what she meant. Kakashi thinks back on the time immediately after the war. How he’d slept when he came to Heimstaðir. How much he still sleeps.

“Maa Hermione, who knows?” Kakashi keeps his voice airy and offers her a beaming smile, confident she won’t be able to tell if it’s real or not behind his mask. After all, there’s a lot of wiggle room between not lying and telling the truth. Bullshit answers like this have served him well all through his life.

Fact is: Kakashi knows there’s a chance the letter has a point. Continuous strain has ruled his life ever since Pein attacked Konoha (ever since he died) leaving only stolen moments to recover. Even after the Fourth World War ended there had been no real rest for the survivors. They had friends to bury, injured to care for, new alliances to cultivate, societies to repair, and in Konoha’s case; a village to rebuild. Kakashi, given his role in the war, had been kept incredibly busy. They were all tired, but he just can’t see why he would need a break more than anyone else?

“Yesterday evening I missed a valve in the milking room.” Hermione offers, making it clear she won’t push the previous subject any further. “Or maybe not _missed_. More like I forgot that the milk truck had been around and that they leave it open. So instead of opening the valve to the milk tank I closed it.”

When she fades out for a second Kakashi turns to look at her. She is smiling slightly and seems to take his attention as a sign to tell him more. “About a quarter of the cows into milking I thought I felt something a little bit off with the machines. It was honestly probably make-believe but luckily I checked the milk room.”

Hermione turns towards Kakashi, halfway to a laugh, and he’s sure she’s withholding the end to make him ask for it. He raises an eyebrow to call her bluff but still allows himself to prod the conversation further. “And?”

“A relief valve was spraying milk everywhere. The floor was like a white lake because it didn’t go down the drain fast enough.” The laughter infects Kakashi, and while he remains silent he can feel it in his body. It’s a lightness after the weight of their previous subject.

“Kristín choose that moment to show up and save me. Laughing while she did it because I apparently did quite a good deer-in-headlight-look.” The stretched-out legs are drawn in and Hermione places her elbows on her knees. Kakashi wonders if it’s the chill or a sudden sense of vulnerability that makes her do it.

“At least she wasn’t angry.” Hermione admits, and Kakashi leans toward the latter of the reasons. Fear of not being good enough is something he can relate to. “Apparently everyone does it at some point. She congratulated me on being a full-fledged farmer and asked me to try not to do it again.” The smile that wavered for a second is back with full strength.

It is unsettling how Hermione shares her mistakes so easily, even allowing some of her insecurities around them to shine through. Shinobi doesn’t generally laugh at their own mistakes, and while it’s refreshing that she does Kakashi has no idea how he should respond. Are you supposed to laugh when someone makes a joke at their own expense? Or do you tell them it was a mistake, no harm done? Civilians are confusing.

They trade a few mishaps from the country life. Or maybe trade is a misleading word, but at least Kakashi tells Hermione of the time the sheep got out into the yard and he had to exit the house through a window to get them back without scaring them out into the road. Hermione tells him about how one cow shat on her shoulder, of getting swatted over the head by endless tails, of the hardship of keeping a wheelbarrow of pellets on even keel past 30 hungry cows, and how terrifying bulls can be when they get loose.

“I’m so happy the light’s returning.” Hermione eventually says, the previous subject currently emptied.

“It has it’s upsides.” Kakashi agrees. When he came to Heimstaðir it was the end of February and they had only four hours of sunshine a day, given that the sun came out at all. It’s quickly getting better. “Although we’re losing the perfect reason to go to bed early and get up late.” The real smile comes easy after so many laughs.

“Point well made.” Hermione smiles back at him. “But maybe that would have been a better thing in a city. Out here the world goes so small when it’s dark outside. Especially this time of the year when everything is grey.” Kakashi hums noncommittally at that.

“I think it was easier when there was snow,” Hermione continues when she realizes Kakashi won’t add anything. There hasn’t been all that much snow since he arrived. “In a way it makes everything complicated, but it also makes the world clean and bright. This part between winter and spring is sad, I wish we could just skip it.”

They’re at the point where the chill of the damp and the wind has worked its way to their bones, and they break up to get back the prepare for their afternoon chores.

Jumping between the unstable tufts of grass in the boggy part of his way back Kakashi realizes Hermione’s company isn’t as bad as he thought. Being part of a conversation forces him to wake up and be present. He might even have had a good time talking to her today, enough so that he doesn’t mourn the loss of his sky-watching time very much.

.oOo.

Hermione shouldn’t have said it. When Kakashi wakes the next morning it is to a howling wind and raging snow. He steps out of the front door in his borrowed coveralls and rubber boots. Feels the wind trying to rip him to shreds and the snow like needles against the bare part of his face. The snow is piled too high against the human sized stable door to get it opened, but if he climbs into the pen he can use the sheep’s door. Crossing the courtyard Kakashi feels as if the whipping air fights against his lungs for every breath, and somehow that makes his chest feel less hollow. He finds himself smiling behind his mask as he ducks into the stables.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

The chill and snow decide to stay. The second night all the water hoses connected to the troughs freeze and Kakashi’s work time doubles as he must knock the ice away from the water surfaces before bringing water from the one functioning tap by the wall. Without channeling chakra the buckets are heavy and the wooden ramp that leads down to the lower stables gets impossibly slippery in his rubber boots. The gate at the end takes two hands to maneuver and balancing the buckets against his legs on the ramp lead to Kakashi spilling ice cold water into his boots at least once a day.

Kakashi doesn’t mind. In fact, the harder work in the stables make him feel more useful and alive. The smell of sheep is a heavy mix of wool and manure, warm bodies and hay. It’s not unpleasant, even if he’s forced to switch all clothing, including his mask, when going inside to avoid smelling it all day. He usually realizes it is time to wash his workwear when the scent of sheep has settled on his skin in the evenings.

Running _in_ the snow turns out to be impossible, as opposed to running _on_ it the way Kakashi’s been doing on his earlier journeys in snowy areas. Not only does the knee-deep powder offer resistance, it also evens out the holes in the ground and makes them invisible. Devoid of his usual pastime Kakashi takes the time to fix little things in the stables, straightens fences and gates, makes sure hinges are oiled, and that the doorsteps and driveway are free of snow.

The fourth day of winter dawns sunny and with strong winds whipping up mist in the air above the snow banks’ crests. “Window-weather,” Þorir calls it, as he’s heading out to work. “Nice to look at but not so nice when you’re in it.”

But it _is_ nice to be in it. It’s cold and unfriendly, yes, but also invigorating. Something with the harshness of the nature in the last days makes Kakashi feel both small and completely irrelevant. In a weird way that’s liberating.

Kakashi follows the ploughed road and the sunshine is multiplied in all the white to blinding levels. Wisps of snow blows across the ground before him and creates beautiful shadow effects. Just a few minutes feels like it negates all the hours of darkness he’s had since he came here and wakes him up more fully than he’s been in a long time. Walking back, he hears a loud whistle and looks up to see Hermione peeking out of her front door.

“Oi! Kakashi!” She calls and waves for him to come over. As he turns up the driveway Kakashi thinks he might have missed their meetings these last few days. He’s used to having people around, and while Sunna and Þorir are home in the evenings he doesn’t feel comfortable around them. They should be allowed some space in their own home.

.oOo.

“Your mask is white with frost.” Hermione greets Kakashi. “Doesn’t the dampness irritate your skin?” The second it slips out of her mouth she regrets it. Know-it-all-Granger must go. She shouldn’t question things so easily, people might take offense.

“You called me over only to ask me that?” Kakashi’s tone is dry, but at least neither angry nor obviously dismissive.

Hermione slumps slightly against the door she’s holding open. It’s freezing outside. “I’m sorry.” She says, and she means it. “Would you like some tea?”

As per his habit Kakashi never really answers the question, but he steps inside none the less. He doesn’t remove his mask with the rest of his outer clothes, which is a little strange. Hermione chats easily about the weather and the beauty of the blowing snow but her mind isn’t in it. She mostly regrets ever acting on the impulse to wave Kakashi over. Why would he want to hang out with her, and especially on a day like this?

After over a decade of periods Hermione knows she’s currently PMSing and is as such unusually incapable of keeping both her personality and her feelings in check. Given that she’s learnt that no one likes all of her, it would have been a good idea _not_ to invite Kakashi today of all days. She hears herself talking too much, as always, and can’t for the life of her understand why Kakashi choose to come inside when he’s never getting a word in. She’s not sure if the thought makes her want to cry because she’s angry with herself or if she’s angry because she wants to cry. It’s also unclear which of the two make her less ridiculous. Probably neither.

“I talk too much.” Hermione says out loud. “Just tell me to shut up when you get tired of it.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Kakashi answers blandly. Hermione wants to die. _How_ is she supposed to interpret that?

She fills two strainers with leaves and pour water into the cups, calming herself as well as she can. “I only had one blend, I hope this is okay?” Turning around Hermione finds Kakashi watching her. The scar over his left eye stands out clearly in the cold winter light. It’s amazing his eye seems to be working at all with the scar tissue traversing his eyelid. So much of his face is covered that it’s hard to tell; but she thinks he looks contemplative. That can’t be good.

“Maa, I’ll live.” Kakashi’s eyes fold to a smile. Putting down one of the cups in front of him Hermione wonders if he’ll remove his mask to drink it. She’s never seen his face but hasn’t thought for one second the mask might be something other than a protection against the cold outside. Not until the last couple of minutes. Now it’s impossible not to think about.

The kitchen table is right by the window, and after seating herself on one of the light wooden chairs Hermione turns her attention to the view outside. It feels safest not to say anything for a little while. Kakashi pulls out a dogeared, battered book from his pocket and flips it open with a practiced ease. From the corner of her eye Hermione can see the cup being raised behind the book. It answers one question but brings up many more. She swears to herself she won’t ask them, especially not now.

Half a teacup pass, quiet apart from Kakashi turning a page every now and then. “What are you reading?” Hermione asks when she feels she’s done with both view and silence. She turns to look at the front of the book and can feel her eyebrows rising.

“Make-out Paradise.” Kakashi answers offhandedly and without moving his eyes from the page.

“Is that what I think it is?” Hermione can hear her voice being a tiny bit shrill, but not embarrassingly so.

“Depends on what you think it is.” Kakashi answers indifferently, eyes still on the book.

Hermione gapes like a fish out of water. It’s slightly frustrating how easy it is for Kakashi to fluster her, and as such she decides it’s not her who will back out of this conversation.

“Basically a Harlequin novel?” She sips on her tea to look unaffected but has a feeling she’s not pulling it off. Not that Kakashi is so much as glancing at her.

“Don’t know what that is.” Kakashi flips a page.

“Eh?” Hermione feels very eloquent. “Like, porn with a plot? A very cliché, poorly written plot?” She’s never actually read one, so she’s going on what she’s heard. Not that she knows anyone who’s ever admitted to reading a Harlequin novel.

“I wouldn’t say it’s poorly written.” Judging from his tone Kakashi might as well be talking about the weather. “Nor would I call it porn.”

“Wow. You always read them in public?” The tea is still warm against her lips, it’s also running out way to fast.

Kakashi shrugs at the question. “Why not?” He says.

“Because people will talk?” It’s odd enough to see girls reading sentimental novels. A Japanese army guy? That definitely goes against some of Hermione’s preconceptions.

“I’ve never cared much what people talk about.” Another page is flipped and the speed Kakashi’s reading at even while in the middle of a conversation says he’s most likely very familiar with the words.

There’s something hidden underneath Kakashi’s last flippant comment, Hermione can sense it. She cannot put proper words to it, but she feels it is important. For the moment though it must be stowed away in her for-later-consideration-file. Along with the mask and the scar across his face and anything else that shouldn’t be brought up right now.

“So, who’s the author? Male or female?” For the first time since taking out the book Kakashi momentarily meets her eyes.

“Jiraya wrote them. He was...” Kakashi obviously searches for the right word. “A colleague.” He finishes, and Hermione wonders what the alternatives were.

“Does that make you a writer or him a soldier?” It’s a tangent but Hermione allows her curiosity to win.

“Jiraya was one of the sannin. He was a legendary warrior, and not only because of his interest in strong liquor and beautiful women.”

“Okay.” Hermione downs her remaining tea and goes back to her intended question. “Would it pass the Bechdel test? Because I’ve given up on reading, or watching, anything with a plot coming even close to romance. Or anything blockbuster, or in a historical setting, or...” She breaks herself off before she goes on forever. “Sorry,” she says instead, “I asked a question, I should wait for the answer.”

“I have never heard of the Bechdel test.” Kakashi says, indifferently. “Therefore, I have no idea if it passes.” For one long second Hermione feels like slapping him. She reigns herself in.

“It’s a simple test for how women are portrayed.” Hermione can’t believe Kakashi’s never heard of it. Then again, he’s from halfway across the earth and hardly the academic type. “You take a movie or book or whatever and you check; is there any scene where two women speak with each other about anything that’s not a man.”

“Hm.” Kakashi haven’t lifted his eyes from the book yet, but at least he sounds contemplative.

“I’m just so incredibly tired of every story ever told where the women are women before they are human. Or the men for that matter. I mean, sometimes it feels like every female character is completely flat apart from her boobs. They are just some side characters there to enhance the men.” Kakashi is finally looking at her and Hermione’s frustration keep her going. “Is it so much to ask for a bit of agency and not just girls floating around waiting for guys to make things happen? If it’s not out of a love interest in a boy of course, then they _might_ act on their own accord. Couldn’t it be okay for girls to take up some space and make themselves heard?

“Women are just painted as either meek or raving mad with feelings and are never making any sense. If they are ever given the room to speak up they do it as a _woman_ , as a role model shit character that’s perfect in that way instead. Where’s the girls who use the bathroom? Who has some grit? Who laughs and cries like a real human being? Instead we get pretty criers whose makeup doesn’t get ruined, even by an apocalypse.”

Kakashi is watching her as Hermione shuts up, realizing she might have gotten slightly out of hand. Didn’t she tell herself it was a bad idea to invite Kakashi today? “I’m sorry.” She feels like she’s repeating herself. “And I know there are similar problems for guys so no offense, it’s just.” With no idea where she was going Hermione lets the unfinished sentence hang in the air between them. She looks out on the wind and the snow, pretending she can’t feel Kakashi’s eyes on the side of her face.

“For someone so invested in women speaking up...” Kakashi says slowly and Hermione get a squirming feeling in her stomach. “...you sure apologize a lot.”

Hermione _almost_ says sorry again but manages to hold her tongue. She hates this. Hates how she’s been taught that she’s too loud, too bossy, too much, and the fact that she can’t shake it off. It feels like she’s falling into a hole in herself and hates even more how tears are gathering in her eyes. She looks up at the ceiling to keep them from spilling over. She’s not even sad, which makes it exponentially more annoying.

After a few calming breaths she dares to look at Kakashi without the fear of crying hanging over her. “Yeah, well, let’s just say that in the long run not even I was impervious to people telling me I’m an egoistical know-it-all.” She can taste the bitterness in the back of her mouth, sharp and cutting.

Kakashi’s eyebrows twitch upward in something that could be surprise, but he turns his focus out the window before Hermione can get a proper chance to read hum.

“I believe it’s getting late, I better head back home.” Kakashi stands up. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Eh… I...” Kakashi is basically out the door before Hermione can figure out what she’s trying to say. “Bye then.” She forces out a smile and Kakashi is gone.

The silence after the closing door is pressing and Hermione lets herself slide down to sit on the hallway floor. It’s melodramatic, she knows, but she feels melodramatic and this whole afternoon has been a mistake. She’s angry at herself for crying now, and for not knowing better than this. Of course Kakashi ran away, she’s rude and generally unlikeable and topped it off with stereotypical girlish almost-crying. If Hermione could change just one thing about herself in this moment, she’d be born a boy and not have to deal with any of this crap. As it is, she’s just destroyed her only potential friendship in this place, _and_ made a fool of herself.

Hermione wipes the snot running from her nose on her sleeve because the shirt needs a wash anyway. She figures she could really use a hug right now, wants one so bad it hurts, but there’s no one around to provide one. At least she’s got milking in about half an hour, so she’ll need to pull herself out of her pity party and get it together. Fake it ‘til you make it and all that.

That evening Hermione calls her mother. “Oh honey,” she says, “but you know; the PMS will be over soon, and you’ll feel better. You didn’t do anything you can’t make right if he comes your way again. Just try to reign yourself in.” She goes to bed afterwards with a knot in her stomach that she hopes is the beginning of cramps. It’s much easier to deal when it switches to whole lower abdomen being what hurts. Two days of hormonal chaos, two days of constant pain, and then a respite of 24 days before it starts again. The bleeding itself has never been the reason she wishes she was born a boy, even if that part sucks too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this! I don’t think I’ve ever read a character with PMS, yet this is me for a few days every month and I know I’m not alone. Please let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

The speed with which the weather changes hasn’t ceased to amaze Hermione. Three days after Kakashi’s visit she’s stopped taking back-to-back painkillers, is bleeding like a stuck pig, and outside the winter has given way to endless rain. She has hubris, does every time she gets her period, and it’s the perfect occasion to start projects she’ll regret once the ovulation sets in and she starts the downward slide into PMS.

Like her mother said; she only needs to catch Kakashi again, apologize, and be a better version of herself from now on. The problem is he hasn’t been seen for two days. The rain has yet to melt the snow on the mountainside enough for running, and if he’s walking along the road he either does it in the opposite direction from Hermione’s house or passes by when she’s not watching.

The idea of walking over to Heimstaðir has popped up in Hermione’s head once or twice, but she holds herself back. Kakashi doesn’t have his own house, and someone else might be home. It could get awkward. Instead she writes, knits, bakes a cake for afternoon tea to share with Kristín and Ingo, and borrows the car and goes into town for an evening. She feels good, with or without Kakashi for a friend, and it’s ridiculous how much she worried what he thought of her. Since when does she need others to define her?

It’s a sad thing this stage will mellow out in a few days.

In the end it turns out to be a week since their last meeting when Hermione finally joins Kakashi up on the hillside again. She’s seen him before, but it’s been raining on and off to the extent she hasn’t felt like struggling up here only to be drenched and have to head back home.

“Long time no seen,” Hermione greets him, as she sits down on the pad she brought. The ground is wet, and the rain is not gone so much as shrunken and hanging in the air. Kakashi’s back against the grass must be freezing and soaked, but it doesn’t show.

“It’s only been a week,” Kakashi points out. He glances at her for a moment before looking back up at the sky.

“Well,” Hermione agrees, “while that’s true I met you three times the week before that, so.” She takes in the sky he watches. It’s massive, stretching all the way down to the ground without any trees to obscure the horizon.

“Look, I’m sorry about last time,” Hermione starts. She’s got a whole speech planned out and might as well get to it. “I wasn’t myself, and I wasn’t very reasonable, or nice come to think about it, and I’m sorry about that.” What she hears herself say isn’t as eloquent as what she had drafted, but at least it gets the point across. “If you want me to buzz off I will, I just wanted you to know that.”

“Buzz off?” Kakashi has turned towards her, and she’s watching his eyebrow rise. Eye contact more than a second at a time is _weird_.

“Oh for… I’m nervous, okay? If you want me to _leave you alone_ , I will. Better?” Hermione can’t help making an exasperated face. The guy can be seriously annoying with the way he sidesteps most of her questions.

“Not really,” Kakashi says.

“So what?” Being irritated can’t be unreasonable under these circumstances. If Kakashi is going to tell her to get lost there are less cruel, drawn-out ways of doing so.

Kakashi sits up to look at her. The stupid mask makes it impossible for her to read anything off his face. “What makes you think I couldn’t avoid you if I wanted to?” His tone holds none of the confrontation expected but a trace of curiosity. His head is tilted slightly to the side. “You are not physically restraining me.”

The question makes Hermione pause and she search for an answer. “Well,” she finally says. “I’m pushy.” It feels strange to admit it out loud like this, not as part of a joke about how difficult she is to deal with, but as a stinging truth. “People are generally raised polite and unwilling to hurt or upset others,” Hermione continues. “Therefore, even if I probably couldn’t detain you if I tried, which I won’t, you might feel obligated to be nice to me.” 

“You think too highly of people.” Hermione can only say what’s not present in Kakashi’s voice as he speaks. Whatever the nameless thing that _is_ there is, it makes her feel like she’s been told she’s got the less lethal of two possible types of cancer.  

The conversation moves on. Hermione can hear herself participating, but she’s relying solely on years of experience in running her mouth. Food seems to be the topic, and how the one served here differ from what they’re used to. Kakashi misses miso soup and something called saury. Hermione tells him of the chocolates she buys in a store just off Diagon, but not of the way the painted flowers on them grow.

In the privacy of her mind Hermione is still thinking about Kakashi’s answer to her apology. It could be his round-about noncommittal way of telling her it’s okay, maybe even that _she’s_ okay. But, she’s not so sure. More likely, he meant he’ll continue doing what he did last time; walk away when she gets obnoxious. She will reign herself in from now on, be the best version of herself and make sure not to give him reason to. That shouldn’t be hard, should it? And she should be grateful either way, right?

.oOo.

Kakashi hangs his rain-soaked clothes to dry on his desk chair, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to the bathroom to shower. No one’s home. No one’s ever home at this time of day, but he still knows he’s getting complacent in this habit. One day he’ll step out of the bathroom and meet Sunna or Þorir’s surprised face and it will get as awkward as his first dinner here. Possibly worse.

As a shinobi, Kakashi sees his body mostly as a tool. Quite often a weapon. It is there to channel chakra, give and take hits, get him from one place to another, and any number of things that needs doing. Nobody can accuse shinobi of not caring how they look, because of course they do, but that’s not the reason to keep fit. Body, mind, and chakra – it’s the three things all shinobi relay on, no blades or other weapons can help you if one of the three fail. Kakashi is confident in his abilities as a ninja, and as such he’s confident in his body. For him it’s always been as easy as that. Exposing one’s torso might be inappropriate in most situations, but it’s not the end of the world.

His face? Another matter completely.

Tsunade once told him it was backwards; the fact that he had no problems with the healers taking his clothes, but that he’d fight every conscious second to get to keep his mask. These days it has sort of played itself out, and he usually comes to with his face covered up. Konoha knows him, has accepted his mask the way they accept the myriad of idiosyncrasies that shinobi cultivates like regular folks grow their gardens.

In the privacy of his own apartment Kakashi takes it off, but here he does it only when he crawls into bed for the night, or when he showers. Þorir and Sunna gave him the strangest looks that first meal, when he took out his book to eat behind, but they didn’t ask. No one does.

Every day after his work-out he walks from his room to the bathroom, feeling exposed, but it’s a habit now and he knows he won’t stop. He wouldn’t say it scares him, but the minute spike of adrenaline it creates sings in his veins after so many weeks of inactiveness. The day he checks for and finds life-signs in the house when he exits the shower he’ll figure something out, use the hand towel or something, but it’s not today. Until then his mask can get aired for this short time to dry out the sweat from training.

Þorir told him, that first afternoon on Heimstaðir, that the hot water here is basically free since it’s geothermal. Long showers are allowed. It’s a small thing, but one he’s grateful for. With his own body for weight, he’s spent his customary half hour after running on keeping the rest of his body in shape. Shoulders and arms were scheduled for today, and the steaming sulfur-smelling water pounding down lessens some of the ache in them.

Showers are also Kakashi’s best place to think. Better than baths even, because if he leans his head a little bit forward the constant warm patter against his neck and shoulder blades ground him like nothing else. 

Dealing with Hermione is hard. Scratch that. Dealing with Hermione is impossible. Kakashi has no idea how he’s supposed to do this right. He has no idea what he did wrong in her kitchen that put tears in her eyes and defiance in her voice, nor does he know how to handle people when they are like that. Giving her her privacy had felt like the right thing at the moment, because weaknesses like that are meant to be hidden, but he got the feeling today it had been incorrect.

The apology Hermione made as they met up made little sense to Kakashi, and he tried to understand it, tried to answer it, but he has a feeling he got that one wrong too. If Hermione’s an open book, and Kakashi’s not so sure about that anymore, she’s written in a language he can’t read. She interests him the way a cipher or a good riddle would. Civilians have always been an enigma to Kakashi, with their immunity to growing up and their squeamishness for things like blood or a little violence. Not that Hermione reminds Kakashi much of Konoha’s civilians, but she sure isn’t shinobi.  

Naruto had been different from most shinobi, too, back when Kakashi first met him. Boisterous and emotional and so very young and naïve in his faith in people. At seventeen Naruto was still most of those things, and in it lay a strength Kakashi would never have imagined back when he got stuck with team 7. The boy had talked the kyūbi around, had brought Obito back from his insanity, and was the only one Kakashi knew who really got through to Sasuke.

Kakashi sighs. He’d made a staggering number of mistakes with team 7, not only with Naruto. He just can’t deal with people’s emotional messes dribbling all around them. Whether they are teenage shinobi in training or strange neighboring girls matter little in the end. It’s him who’s too different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will be longer, I promise. In the meantime, I’d be happy to hear your feelings this far!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your interest in this, it’s great to know people are out there reading! As for this chapter we have some messed up timelines, technology-wise. Let’s just pretend Harry Potter happened later than it did, placing this story in 2019. Also, obviously, Kakashi’s magically learnt English.  
> I’m not sure I’m happy with how this chapter turned out. Some parts should probably be re-written altogether, but I told myself not to take this story too seriously, so I won’t. If there are passages that are too weird or impossible to understand, please let me know and I’ll fix those.

Hermione types “Konoha” into Google maps and gets four European restaurants. Changing to “Konoha Japan” gives her what looks like a neighborhood on Kyushu. Doing the original search again with the zoom set to Japan she gets a shrine, a river, and a bunch of different businesses. None of it feels like what she’s looking for.

“An island outside of Japan,” Kakashi had said the first time they met, and then, today, he’d passingly mentioned the name of his hometown: Konoha. Hence the search.

It’s not like Hermione is stalking him. Much. It’s just, he doesn’t have a Facebook profile (and who doesn’t have Facebook? _Luna Lovegood_ is on Facebook for god’s sake), and Hermione is bored. Really bored, and there’s too little time left before milking to do anything reasonable. This is why they invented the internet anyway, isn’t it?

Maybe she misheard, or misspelled. The name wouldn’t originally be in the Roman alphabet, making it hard to know. In this it doesn’t help that her understanding of the Japanese writing system has widened, with her carefully extracting information on it from Kakashi. The man might be good at skirting outright questions, but he can be made to talk if she’s careful and the subject isn’t personal.

They’ve met up a several times by now, mostly up on the mountainside in the moments when sunshine has painted the world golden instead of grey. It’s been nice, having someone to talk to that’s her age and in a similar position. The conversations have been kept superficial, and Hermione’s honestly proud of how well she’s avoided letting her personality go haywire and suffocate everyone in sight. It’s not been an easy balance to keep.

There was one instant, when she found out Kakashi _doesn’t have a driver’s license_ , where she might have gone slightly overboard in her surprise. If it’s one thing she cannot imagine it’s being stuck in rural Iceland without even the ability to borrow a car to get to town. Soldiers should be able to drive, right? Kakashi had merely lifted a single eyebrow at the question and flatly told her that he didn’t _need_ to drive. She’s still unsure if there had been a hint of a joke in the dry tone, or if she’d begun to ascribe him a sense of humor for her own sanity’s sake.

Of course, it ended up with Hermione offering to bring Kakashi into town when she goes and saying that he should join her to the local swimming pool. It’s her own fault that he folded, too, since she pestered him about it for over a minute.

Having someone to talk to while lounging in the hot pot does sound pleasant, Hermione thinks as she turns the computer off and changes into her workwear. She usually gets bored and goes home earlier than she’d like because her books don’t deserve water wrinkling their pages. Only, when Kristín heard she gave Hermione the smile she always gets when “the neighbor boy” comes up. The one that make Hermione’s insides clench painfully. What Kristín is implying will never happen, but Hermione refuses to put herself in a situation where she’ll have to explain why it won’t. There’s too much inside of her still achingly raw and impossible to talk about.

Milking is, at least, a good distraction from painful thoughts. Hermione learnt early on that if she’s agitated or worried, the cows will get agitated or worried. After almost three months that fact has sunken into her body to the point where she automatically calms down when she enters the barn. The sting of the hot water in the washing bucket, the rhythmic sounds of the milking machine and the musty smell of cows are grounding. Add to that the divided attention needed to avoid getting impatiently side-kicked while cleaning and stripping the cows, and Hermione’s mind is comfortably settled as she works. If being a farmer came with nine-to-five days, free weekends, and paid vacation time Hermione wouldn’t hesitate to change careers for good.

Hermione picks Kakashi up once milking is done. She drives the worn, dirty farm-car that’s hers whenever she wants it, and she knows it smells of cow because the tang of them latches onto everything.

“So, did you get the mandatory speech about Icelandic pools?” Hermione asks as she pulls out of Heimstaðir’s driveway. The cars headlights create a yellow-grey cone on the road ahead of them and make the darkness in the ditches inky and thick.

“You mean the strict lecture on showering?” Kakashi sound vaguely amused. “I got that. I think they expected me to be react differently to the fact that the changing rooms have communal showers.”

“Yeah?” Hermione prods. “You do that in Japan too?”

“I’m not from Japan, but yes, we do that too. Our public baths are divided between men and women, proper washing is done before going in the pool, and no swimsuits are allowed.” A quick glance shows Kakashi looking disinterestedly out the windscreen.

“You’re not from Japan?” Hermione can hear the surprise in her own voice. “But Japanese is your first language, right? I mean, I know you said you’re from an island outside Japan, and I guess I just assumed,” she trails off before she says something really stupid.

“No,” Kakashi says. “Then yes, then yes again, but we are not a part of the Japanese nation. In fact, there are several sovereign countries spread out over a group of islands, including the one I come from.”

 “Wow,” Hermione feels embarrassed. “Shows what I know.” She can’t help but wonder how many other of Kakashi’s vague answers hold far more complicated truths than she’s thought.

“Maa Hermione, I doubt the extent of your knowledge is in any way defined by this oversight.” Hermione can hear Kakashi’s smile and it must mean he knows what humor is, even if he uses it to change the subject.

The conversation derails from there, with Hermione suggesting that the oversight might be Kakashi’s and she’s been right all along. It turns into the kind of playful banter Hermione realizes she has missed desperately. Despite everything that happened back home, and the absolute certainty that she made the right choice when she left, she sometimes yearns for it the way it was before. How could she not?

Hermione gets out to the bathing area before Kakashi and steps down in the hotpot that’s kept a comfortable 38 degrees Celsius. In the warmer of the pools two old men are chatting away in Icelandic, but apart from the three of them the area is vacant this time of the evening. She leans her head back, allowing her body to float freely the empty pool for a moment, and looks up at the starless sky. It feels like it could start snowing.

The mask is firmly in place when Kakashi steps out of the changing room only minutes later. Hermione’s been thinking about whether he would take it off, how he’d look, and if it’d be weird, but apparently he’s gotten away with keeping it on. In an unusual curiosity-defying way it’s a relief.

What is not a relief is that with the distance between them Hermione can’t see Kakashi’s mask and _not_ see where it ends against his collarbones. It’s also impossible to see his clavicles and not see the rest of the upper body, since that’s how perspective works. Hermione wants to sink into the tepid embrace of the water and suffocate. A solution like that would also save her the trouble of figuring out where it’s least awkward to rest her eyes until Kakashi is close enough that his body is taken out of the equation.

It’s unclear if it’s the muscles toned from actual use or the way Kakashi owns his movements. It could be the combination. Fact is, Hermione is not above admitting he’s aesthetically pleasing. Problem is, he must be aware of it too, and if he knows that she knows then she’s damned either way, isn’t she? If she looks at him it can be taken as outright interest, if she doesn’t it can be taken as poorly hidden interest, and if this gets out Kristín will never let it go. A significant other is the last thing Hermione wants, but even if she was on the lookout it wouldn’t be for a closed-off, emotionally pre-pubescent, Harlequin-reading hipster. No matter how great his body might be.

For a desperate moment Hermione thinks about casually mentioning she’s a lesbian. The problem with that is she _isn’t_ , even if she’s entertained the idea once or twice when she’s been especially tired of men.

The situation resolves itself temporarily when Kakashi slips into the pool next to her with catlike grace and the water surface distorts everything beneath it. “It feels like we might get snow,” Hermione says, and she’s talking about the weather. Great.

Kakashi only hums in answer. “I read there’s an Icelandic saying;” Hermione continues when heavy silence starts settling around them, “if you don’t like the weather just wait fifteen minutes.”

“I believe that might be an exaggeration,” Kakashi says. “It’s almost half an hour since you picked me up, and the weather’s the same.” Hermione smiles and lets a lone, silent chuckle out through her nose. Kakashi’s humor might be dryer than the plants in Harry’s first flat, but it’s there alright. She wonders if she’s become attuned to it now, or if Kakashi uses it more frequently than he did.

They flow between the topics easily enough for a while, none of them creating more ripples in Hermione’s mind than the wind can manage on the larger of the swimming pools. It’s the kind of conversation that keeps the social machinery working but makes her soul and mind shrivel up and die. It’s procrastination with a side dish of tricking yourself you’ve got a connection with someone. Being tolerable to be around requires sacrifices, but even as she participates in the charade she wonders if it’s worth it.

“Where are you from then?” Hermione doesn’t have a bridge to this subject from the last one, she dives right in. It’s been rolling around in her head all afternoon as it is, with her failure to find Konoha on the map. Kakashi might have a mastery in ducking questions, but Hermione has a pathological need to understand things, and there’s no understanding without answers.

Kakashi looks at her for a moment. “Why do you want to know?” The tone is regulated but not an immediate dismissal. “It’s not like the names will mean anything to you.” Hermione shrugs.

“Well,” she says, “for one; I’m a curious person. Why wouldn’t I want to know? You know where I’m from.” The wording can be interpreted as passive aggressive Hermione hears, but she tries to show they’re not with a smile and a shrugging motion.

“And for two?” Hermione has no clue what Kakashi is asking. “You said: For one, you’re curious,” he clarifies. “But that’s hardly a reason.” She can recognize him derailing this line of questioning as well but doesn’t fight it. At least this can be classified as talking about something real.

Looking out over the steaming pools Hermione tries to grasp the words needed. She knows what her second reason is, of course, but how does she explain it without being a nosy control freak dictating what’s important? Seconds go by, and she have to say something soon. Either way Kakashi’s stuck with her for a ride home, which should give her opportunity to apologize if this goes horribly.

“It’s just,” Hermione starts, the words moving like syrup, “we’ve been hanging out for a while, and that’s nice and all. I like having someone to talk to. Only, I also like to get to know people, and be able to talk about real things, eventually. I mean, I sort of see you as my, friend,” a sudden fear spikes as Hermione wonders if Kakashi will protest the word. He doesn’t, and she continues smoothly; “but I don’t really know _anything_ about you. Except your name is Hatake Kakashi - probably in that order because you wanted to say it like that when we first met -, you speak Japanese but aren’t from Japan, your hometown _might_ be called Konoha, you’re in the army, and your boss sent you here.”

Falling quiet for a moment Hermione tries to go over what she said. She glances at Kakashi, wishing he’d respond. He doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” she admits when the silence begins to wrap around her ribcage like anxiety. “I know I’m demanding and intrusive. I try not to be, I promise, but sometimes it’s impossible. Feel free to pretend I didn’t say any of that.” While her voice remains relatively normal, Hermione feels like she is shrinking. A bikini is crap as armor and the water doesn’t hide how she pulls one of her legs up and wraps her arms around it. Kakashi still hasn’t spoken. The old men disappear towards the changing rooms.

The hint couldn’t be clearer if it slapped Hermione across the face. She feels mostly empty from it. It was only ever a matter of time, and this way it won’t hurt as much as it did with Ron and Harry.

“I’ll go shower. See you at the car.” Hermine looks at Kakashi as she stands and takes the two strides to the stairs. He is sitting unnaturally still, eyes wide open and tracking her movements. This is what deprecation looks like then. Good to know. Or something.

In the empty changing room Hermione picks up the pieces and puts herself back together. It’s a familiar puzzle by now. Being honest, Hermione knows the distraction provided from their trivial conversations is going to fade into boredom soon anyway. Nothing has been lost, has it? Except for her dignity, and she can live without that.

Kakashi is already at the car once Hermione gets there, lounging against the hood with his hands in his pocket. If she doesn’t have to deal with his blasé bullshit one more minute, it won’t be too soon.

She’s close enough to distinguish movements from shadows over his mask when he speaks. “I’m not very good at this,” he says, tone carefully modulated.

Hermione’s steps falter to a stop as she carefully bites her tongue, catching a number of scathing comments before they slip out. Why must he do this now? Right when she’s moved past all the painful stages and reached vindictiveness.

Kakashi is looking past Hermione’s left shoulder, where the entrance to the pool is. Hermione sighs and lets her head fall forward until she can see her stomach. If this is him manipulating her he’s good at it, her anger is folding like a house of cards. Looking up again she catches his eyes on her before they snap back to the building. “I noticed.” Hermione keeps a smile on her face as she says it, and it’s not a hundred percent fake, maybe seventy.

“I come from Konohagakure, or Konoha, which is the military center of our country, Hi no Kuni.” Kakashi’s words sound rehearsed.

“Okay,” Hermione fishes out the car keys, “why don’t you tell me more about it in the car? I’m freezing.”

There are no floodgates opening. Kakashi still says less than nothing once or twice on their way home, but he _tries_ to answer most of Hermione’s questions. That is something, at least. She learns of the vast deciduous forests that’s given Konoha its name, wonders if the trees growing there are really as large as they sound, and comes to the conclusion Konoha shouldn’t be called village at all considering the number of inhabitants. Kakashi focuses on facts over feelings, and there are no personal anecdotes or reminiscing, but it’s new knowledge to feed her starving inquisitiveness.

“Thank you,” Hermione says as she drops Kakashi off ten minutes later. He looks at her wordlessly for a few seconds, bent down to peer in through the open door.

“See you around,” he finally answers. Hermione can’t help her smile. He’s not very good at this, is he? But at least it has become interesting again.

.oOo.

“Welcome home,” Sunna greets Kakashi as he steps inside. “Did you have a nice evening?”

“Yes,” he says as he unties his shoes and puts them away. He folds his eyes and brow into a smile, trusting his mask to hide the shape of his mouth. “The pools were very nice.”

“They are. You can hang your swimwear in the shower overnight.” Sunna gestures to the bathroom. “Then we’re watching a movie, if you want to join us?”

Kakashi knows he should accept the offer, it’s what a good guest does. But he is falling asleep where he stands. It’s a paralyzing weariness, familiar after his first month here. He thought he was done with this now. “I’m sorry,” he tells Sunna, “I’m tired, I’ll probably go to bed. Maybe next time?” He usually joins them, they should be able to forgive him this transgression.

The smile he gets in answer is nothing but warm. “Fresh air and hot water tend to have that effect, huh?”

Not on Kakashi, not normally, but he nods none the less.

The negative impression of the bedside lamp hasn’t faded from the inside of Kakashi’s eyelids, and no matter how tired he was when he turned it off he is wide awake now. His pulse is thrumming in his ears, loud and fast against the pillow, and he turns onto his back. An itch is spreading in his legs, prodding him to get up and run. He’d listen to them if he had the energy.

Hermione had driven off in the car with the last drops of strength Kakashi had. Like the words spoken on their way home had drained his chakra faster than the sharingan ever did. Maybe they had, maybe this is some sick version of the Tsukuyomi Kakashi hasn’t noticed being caught in. It doesn’t feel like the Tsukuyomi, but would he be able to tell?

Unable to remain horizontal Kakashi swings his legs over the side of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees. This is a mess. This whole evening has been.

Over the last two weeks Kakashi thought they found a balance. He has tried to contribute more, and has avoided any tricky situations. He thought he was doing okay. Hermione broke up his days with her simple company and he had enjoyed having people around. Even the shinobi who keep to themselves can’t manage the level of isolation the Icelandic countryside provides. The elemental countries are too crowded with people for that. Here Kakashi would be able to go weeks seeing only Sunna and Þorir, without even trying to be alone. It is unsettling.

Kakashi should have seen it in Hermione’s eyes when she asked the question, should have deflected in another direction, should have said _something_. So many shoulds, and he’d botched them all. The incapacitating uncertainty that struck him as Hermione practically begged him to speak was terrifying. Conceptually, he’d rather go up against Uchiha Madara again than be put in another emotional minefield like that. He knows it is irrational, the _world_ would be at stake again if Madara was brought back, but that doesn’t change the fact.

With a beating heart and hands stuffed in his pocket to stop the shaking Kakashi managed to make it right. Somewhat. The indecision had been written clearly on Hermione’s face before she accepted the stilted gesture. Only the luck of being at the swimming pool and the time that gave him to strategize made it at all possible.

They will make Kakashi Hokage when he gets home, and there will be nothing he can do about it. As Hokage he will be needed for more than fighting – which he _can’t do_ anymore, but his hearts speeds up from that thought alone and he wrenches his mind away before it gives out – and a huge chunk of the job is interpersonal. Politics and diplomacy will be important to guide them away from more wars, and Kakashi can’t even make friends with a person who wants nothing but getting to know him. Hundred of thousands of lives on his shoulders, and they’re all screwed, aren’t they?

Raising his head to take weight off his neck Kakashi rubs his face and lets his eyes sweep across the room. His desk, his wardrobe, his bookshelf, the yellow glow of the keyhole. If he stays in here another second, he’ll go insane. There’s no need to turn on the lights to change into clothes and put on a mask. Whatever movie they’re watching must be better than sitting alone in the darkness.

.oOo.

Hermione thinks about it as she’s falling asleep: The town she can’t find on the internet. The country she’s never heard of. The holes in the narrative, and the questions not answered. The gravity-defying hair for Merlin’s sake. And she wonders.

Then again; it’s easy to see ghosts everywhere if you have lived a decade in a haunted house.


	6. Chapter 6

Kakashi can’t stay at home. No matter how unresponsive his legs are, and how gravity is increasing until it feels like he’s back in Kaguya’s alternate universe. (The universe where Obito died for Kakashi for the second time, telling Kakashi he wasn’t allowed to join them yet - and thinking about that is _not_ helping.)

Kakashi _can’ t stay at home_. Because he refuses to fall down that well again, and because he fucked up with Hermione yesterday. He doesn’t know if his graces are good enough for her to forgive him if she turns up today and he doesn’t. Kakashi’s a shinobi, and whatever this is he will push through and defeat it.

Feeding the sheep had been bad, and running is a disaster. The tiredness that hit him after the pool is still as crippling. There’s a sluggishness Kakashi can’t quite throw off, like he’s all out of chakra. His muscles are fine, and he knows his stamina is more than enough for this, but they are somehow denying him access. There’s a ditch just above the farm that he always leaps across, and he knows, a split second before leaving the ground, that he won’t make it today. He’s done this every day for a month now, and he knows the distance, but the response from his body is close to nonexistent.

Years of ingrained reflexes luckily kicks in, and Kakashi’s chakra flares momentarily to protect his ankles from the impact with the muddy bank. He still slips when he lands, ending up on his knees and hands in the cold wet dirt before kicking himself back up. On the far side of the trench Kakashi takes a second to wipe his hands on a tuft of dead grass and regains control of his breathing.

This is not good.

For the first time he takes a straight route to the plateau. Before he gets there he almost twists an ankle twice, but at least he stays upright. Sitting down is heaven and hell, all at once, because he knows he’ll have to get up eventually and make his way back. Resting might help with that, or it will take away his momentum and make it impossible. With elbows propped against drawn-up legs Kakashi closes his eyes and focuses inwards, trying to find any signs of what’s wrong with him. He’s neither a medic nor a sensor type though, and Byakugan is only for the Hyūga.

“Hi.” Hermione is so late Kakashi had begun thinking today was one of the days she wouldn’t show.

“Yo,” Kakashi answers and raises his head to look at her. She’s bundled up in her regular thick jacket, woolen scarf and hat to stave off the wind. He wants to continue, to start a conversation about something, but he can’t come up with a single subject not already used. Pretending to be normal is hard when his thoughts move as stiffly as his legs.

Hermione foregoes her usual spot and sits down next to him. Having her this close is odd, people generally respects his personal space. A benefit is that the proximity makes it natural to look away, and Kakashi rests his eyes on the narrow valley that stretches out before them. The barren landscape is gray in the absence of snow and devoid of life save for a few farm animals strewn out in their pens. Since Kakashi got here he’s come to appreciate the constant wind, it seems to blow life into the vastness.

“I wasn’t going to come today,” Hermione says. “Then I saw you running and I just.” Kakashi can feel her eyes on his hands and knees. “Are you okay?”

“Maa,” Kakashi answers, carefully keeping his tone light, “a little mud is nothing to worry about. I’ll live.” Hopefully. Because if this turns out to be an actual problem it’s awfully far to a hospital that can untangle his chakra.

“I wasn’t worried about the mud. It’s just, I’ve seen how you usually move, and I saw you today.” Hermione sounds thoughtful and horrifyingly present. “Besides, you didn’t answer my question.”

It’s an observation, nothing more, which is fortunate since he can’t give her anything else that’s not an obvious lie. That she’s seen enough of him to know from afar that something is different today is weird. That she’s reacted to it like this is outlandish. People are supposed to shy away and let others deal however they see fit, not barge in and ask unwanted questions.

“Is it narcissistic of me to wonder if you came up here today only because I might be here?” By now Kakashi knows her voice enough to hear the smile before he turns enough to see it. He raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, so probably.” He tries to turn it into a joke, hoping Hermione will take the hook. She doesn’t, Kakashi can see in the small crease between her eyebrows.

“But you didn’t know I _wouldn’t_ be here either.” There’s nothing Kakashi will say on that subject, and after a few seconds Hermione sighs. “Whatever,” she concedes, “but for your information: I’ll survive you standing me up once or twice, and if you want to hang out without the additional exercise I live right down there.” Hermione gestures to her house. “I have tea, and a telephone.”

No answer seems to be needed and Kakashi can’t find the energy to find another topic. Coming here was obviously a lapse in judgement. The only thing it did was disrupt Hermione’s plans for the day. Nothing but the wind and Hermione shuffling slightly next to Kakashi breaks up the silence for a long time.

“I’m getting the feeling you’d rather be alone,” Hermione finally says. Kakashi can see he’s got maybe a second before she stands up and leaves if he does nothing. It’s alarming to realize he doesn’t want that. He fought for this to continue yesterday, if he gives up now that was all in vain.

Kakashi’s jaw move, but no sound comes out. “That’s not it,” he manages on his second try. “I’m just tired.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see Hermione studying him as she aborts her motion to stand.

“Yeah?” She speaks carefully, like Kakashi might bolt any second. While not a wholly unreasonable concern, it does make him consider the option. “Couldn’t sleep yesterday?”

A shrug seems like the easier answer, Hermione is smart after all. Admitting to anything like this is unheard of. It helps that no one at home will never know about it, but Kakashi still feels he exposes a vulnerability best kept secret. Shinobi don’t get exhausted for no reason, and they definitely don’t confess to not sleeping. It doesn’t do to have your abilities up for question when your reputation is built on them.

“Is that my fault?” The voice makes Kakashi turn fully towards Hermione for the first time since she joined him. She’s worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she watches him. Kakashi looks away.

“I don’t know,” he tells her, because he’s getting the feeling that saying nothing would be worse. She shouldn’t have to be another person he’s messed up with his inability to handle relationships. Hermione’s silence pushes Kakashi to continue. “I was exhausted when I got home, but then I went to bed and it just,” he shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says. Kakashi can’t help but laugh at her. How can she possibly come to the conclusion any of this is on her?

“Maa Hermione, you give yourself too much credit,” he tells her. “I’m perfectly able to be this tired on my own.”

“I think we’ve already established I might be narcissistic?” There’s a smile twitching in the corners of Hermione’s lips as she allows Kakashi’s averting joke.

“We did, but there’s no need for you to take that as permission to keep going.”

“I’ll let you know that the world _does_ revolve around me, so I’ve got no choice.” Hermione is grinning as she stands up and offers her hand. “Come on,” she says. “You’re obviously not running home, so you might as well walk down with me before you get a cold. If you’re up for it, there’s that tea I was talking about.”

Rationalizing it with civility Kakashi takes Hermione’s hand, and she’s steadier than she looks as he lets her guide him to his feet.  He’s not sure about the tea, going back to Heimstaðir and falling into bed sounds like the better plan. On the other hand, his chances of falling asleep tonight will increase if he stays awake until then.

It ends with tea, off course. Hermione asks outright once they reach her house, and Kakashi’s attempt to bail out on the account of being covered in mud falls on deaf ears. “Are you kidding me?” Hermione tells him. “This is a farmer’s house. As long as we keep to the kitchen no permanent harm will be done.” Saying no in any other way is too complicated, but Kakashi tells himself to keep it short.

Luckily, the conversation over the rims of their teacups is lighthearted and easy. Hermione tells Kakashi about some book she’s read, and hopefully doesn’t realize how little he absorbs. He tries to listen, he really does, but the words weave together in one long string of sounds and he finds himself staring emptily at the top of his book.

“I should get going,” Kakashi says in a quiet moment. His teacup is empty, making it reasonable to withdraw.

“Do you want a ride?” Hermione says to Kakashi’s back as he puts his cup in the dishwasher. He wonders if her face would give him any clue as to what her thoughts are. “It’s quite a walk and you look pretty beat.”

Kakashi turns around and Hermione’s jaw is clenched under slightly pink tinted cheeks. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m quite capable of walking,” Kakashi tells her. He has run between countries, he can shuffle back to Heimstaðir from here in far worse conditions.

To her credit Hermione doesn’t push the issue. “Okay,” she says instead, “but just so you know; I’m not going up to our usual place for a week, so if you go there it’s only for your own sake. If you feel like hanging out you’re more than welcome to come by though.” She smiles to take the edge off her words.

“You don’t think I know my limits?” Kakashi asks dryly. She’s obviously doing this in some misguided attempt to keep him from running. Hermione looks pointedly at his knees and the sleeves of his shirt where caked grime is clinging.

“If you do, I’m not convinced you respect them,” Hermione tells him, too serious despite her lips forming a smile. Kakashi has absolutely no clue how to answer that. The fact that he’s made it through his own history alive is hardly a convincing argument to someone unaware of what that entails.

“I’ve got milking between seven and nine in the mornings and four and seven in the evenings. Lunch is at twelve with Kristín and Ingo. The rest of the day I’m mostly at home.” Hermione’s changing the subject, but far be it for Kakashi to protest. He should have managed a disarming answer to her earlier comment, but he still hasn’t got one.

“Okay,” he acknowledges. Obviously, he’s expected to come by sometime in the next couple of days.

Hermione waves him off as he leaves, hanging around in the doorway. As Kakashi forces his resisting legs to move he wonders if she really meant the offer of a ride, it might have been nice. He can make it on his own though, there’s no need to inconvenience anyone on his behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a physician so beware of made-up medicine in this chapter. I know very little about knee injuries and haven’t googled them as much as I could have.

“Jæja” the orthopedist says as he looks at the black and white picture of Hermione’s knee. He spins around on his chair. “Cows can be dangerous, you should be careful.”

_No shit_ , Hermione thinks, but she grits her teeth together and silently wonders if he would have said the same thing to, for example, Kakashi. It hadn’t even _been_ a cow, it had been a calf, and not a cute newborn one either.

“Is anything broken?” She asks. Nicely. Because she’s raised well, and needs the doctor’s medical advice.

“Not that I can tell. It should heal on its own. Stay off it for a couple of days, don’t do anything painful after that, and if it still hurts two or three weeks from now we have a physiotherapist in the building.” Hermione waits for a continuation that never comes.

“Okay,” she says, “Should I wrap it or something? Get a brace?”

“If you want to. But it will not get you on your feet faster, and once you do a bandage or soft brace is mostly there to remind your brain to be careful.” Hermione wonders if it’s disproportionate to hate the man.

“Well then,” Hermione stands up with the help of the crutches Kristín found for her, “thank you.” The crutches mean she has an excuse not to shake his hand. It’s a small win. Madame Pomfrey would have fixed this for her in a matter of minutes.

Ingo is waiting for Hermione, patiently holding doors and asking her what the doctor said. “Olafur is a good doctor,” he says once they’re in the car. “If he says you’ll be fine in two weeks you will.” The doctor didn’t exactly say that, but Hermione can’t bring herself to argue.

They stop at the supermarket on the way home, and Hermione hops inside to stock up on comfort food and snacks for her unwanted holiday. She needs chocolate to get through this. Managing the crutches and the shopping basket is a nightmare, and Ingo’s disappeared to god-knows-where. Hermione wants to scream, or cry, and it’s her luck to have a stupid calf run into her stupid knee just in time for her stupid PMS.

There’s a mountain of Póló kexes, banana sprengjur, plain chocolates, pipp-bars, mint-chocolate ice cream, pineapple squash, skyr, and Doritos on the check-out counter when Hermione pays. If she’s gone slightly overboard it’s only because she won’t be able to drive and needs reserves.

“Getting ready for the apocalypse?” Ingo says as he meets her outside the store. He’s smiling. Hermione hasn’t spent a lot of time with Ingo, but she likes him. His English is not the best, but he teaches Hermione random Icelandic phrases that she writes down with his help.

“Only a small one,” Hermione tells him. He hands her a bag from the pharmacy.

“I got you some bandages,” he says, “and one of those knee-supports, and some painkillers.”

“Thank you.” Hermione blinks at him, whatever she thought he was doing it wasn’t this. “I have some cash,” before she can get further Ingo stops her.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “You got injured working for us, whatever we can do to help, we will. No arguing.” A wink follows the last part and Hermione can’t help but smile. She’s already tried arguing that she can work, and she lost.

“Thank you,” Hermione says instead. She’s touched, but also slightly mortified. Here she goes and injures herself so she can’t work, which is an inconvenience to start with, and then Ingo and Kristín clearly feel the need to cover anything not paid for by her insurance. It’s Hermione who should pay them for room and board since she’s not contributing, but she hasn’t dared say that out loud.

.oOo.

Kakashi knows he can’t put it off any longer. He has continued his running, but in the mornings. Some of the responsiveness has returned to his body, but he sleeps more again, almost twelve hours a night. After lunch he’s gone on walks along the road past Hermione’s. If she’s seen him she hasn’t made it known. She told him to come over, but the unobtrusive way of doing it doesn’t seem to work. Kakashi will just have to hope he didn’t misunderstand her.

Patience is something a shinobi must learn, but it doesn’t stop Kakashi’s heart from making its presence known in the eternity it takes Hermione to get to the door. Maybe she isn’t home. Maybe she won’t be home until the week is up and he’s no longer expected to do anything this complicated and can get back to hanging out in their usual spot.

Hermione’s voice vibrates through the wooden door before she opens. “Kakashi,” she says when she sees him. She’s smiling even as she gestures to a phone she’s holding pressed between her ear and shoulder. “Come on in.” Not until she lets go of the door to grab the phone does Kakashi realize she’s supported by a crutch on her other side.

“Yeah, that sounds rough, I hope it’ll work out.” Hermione painstakingly makes her way down the hall towards the living room as the voice on the other side takes over in a wordless string of sounds. She gestures with her head for Kakashi to follow.

Tactically; it’s sound to buy time, so Kakashi does exactly that as he takes off his shoes and warm clothing. The social codes around cellphones are not something he’s ever considered. It’s not really been an issue until now. There’s also the fact that Hermione is on crutches, and Kakashi gets the feeling she will expect some kind of reaction from him.

Delaying only works for a finite amount of time, and Kakashi awkwardly stops in the doorway to the living room when Hermione speaks again. “I know,” she says while beckoning Kakashi to take a seat. “But you can do it, just don’t decide to fail beforehand. My neighbor’s here though. I have to see what he wants.” The tinny, wordless voice takes over and Kakashi feels like a trespasser. “Good luck. Bye” Hermione says finally and end the call. The phone clatters as she drops it on the coffee table.

.oOo.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Hermione leans back against the couch, her right leg stretched out with a cushion under the knee. Getting to the door had been unpleasant, but worth it to get rid of Amy.

“I can come back later,” Kakashi tells her. “I interrupted.”

“And thank god for that.” Hermione smiles, but it’s lacking feeling. “That was Amy,” she tells him, “she went to uni with me before I quit and came here. Trust me, I’m grateful you gave me a reason to hang up.”

Kakashi doesn’t respond, and the silence plucks at Hermione. She wants to tell him, wants to tell _someone_ , and Kakashi is the only one around. The phone call picked at a scab Hermione had managed to push out of her mind, making it itch again. It’ll be all she thinks about anyway.

“I hung out with her and these other two girls, studying together, having lunch, that sort of thing, I thought we were all friends. Turns out I was wrong.” Hermione shrugs. She can tell on Kakashi’s stance he’s uncomfortable. Calling her mother would be a better option, only Hermione thinks she prefers Kakashi’s silence to her mother telling her that she’s making things up. Or worse, that it’s unsurprising. Kakashi should be provided with an exit though, because Hermione has got a busted knee and PMS and now this, and her mind’s running a hundred miles a minute, and it’s completely fair if he wants out.

“Listen,” she says, “it’s that kind of day. No hard feelings if you want to take off, but if you’re staying; please sit down.” To Hermione’s astonishment Kakashi takes a chair. There’s a tenseness around his eyes that Hermione can’t decode with so little of his face visible. Maybe she should have been more precise than “that kind of day”, Kakashi’s not the most perceptive guy, who knows if he understands what she meant?

“How did you know you were wrong?” Kakashi tilts his head slightly with the question, as if Hermione is a puzzle for him to solve.

Reaching backwards in the conversation Hermione realizes he’s talking about the friendship. “Well,” she starts, “I started hearing about things I wasn’t invited to. Small stuff at first, and I tried thinking it was nothing, and that I had other friends, but it got bigger.” Talking about it puts an uncomfortable heaviness in Hermione’s chest. It weights down her lungs and blocks her throat. She had tried, she really did, but it hadn’t mattered. “Then there was this time when they went for coffee during a break, and I was sitting next to them, but I wasn’t invited,” she picks at her nails, “and I decided never again.”

“A few weeks later I understood why they’d kept me around; I had a new study group, and they showed up and played nice. And copied all my answers for an upcoming assignment. Didn’t even ask first.” The silence from Kakashi is deafening. A quick glance shows his face to be carefully blank before Hermione’s eyes find their way to the window. He obviously didn’t realize what he was getting into when he stayed, but Hermione decides that’s on him and articulates the notion screaming in her head. “I just sometime wish I was born stupid,” she says, “and with a pleasant personality.”

The thought is not a new one, but she’s never put words on it before, not even in writing. For all that Hermione loves her sharp mind she’d trade it in a heartbeat if it meant never again wondering if she is endured rather than liked. If it meant never again being kept around simply because she was great at academics. Because she had _tried_ to be different at uni, less of know-it-all, obnoxious, questioning Granger and more easy-going and relaxed, but it apparently hadn’t been enough.

“Anyway,” Hermione continues, valiantly putting a little cheer in her voice. “That’s what you interrupted; Amy trying to guilt trip me into helping her with a class she’s retaking. I know I should tell her to get lost, and I’ve tried to, but it always ends with me slipping away quietly. So, thank you for sparing me the humiliation.” Hermione has made it without crying this far, she can’t start now. It will scare Kakashi off and she can use the distraction of company. She leans her head back as she takes a slow, deep breath and wills the moisture in her eyes back down her tear ducts. It works, marginally.

Opposite of Hermione Kakashi is not far from the wide-eyed look he’d sported at the pool. Hermione thinks she understands it better now. A genuine smile finds its way to her face, she can feel it in her chest. It’s a perfect distraction from her own feelings. “Right,” she says, “you’re not very good at this, are you?” Kakashi’s chin moves, but whether from unspoken words or grinded teeth Hermione can’t tell. “You’re supposed to say something along the lines of; _oh, that sucks, I’m glad you got away from those idiots_. After that you’re good to change topics.” Whatever else Hermione might wish to hear, she will never dictate. It would need to be real.

“Oh, that sucks, I’m glad you got away from those idiots?” The words sound so foreign coming from Kakashi Hermione can’t help but laugh.

“Here,” she says, reaching into the bag next to her and throwing a chocolate in Kakashi’s general direction. His reflexes are lightning fast as he catches it. “Have a banana sprengjur for your hard work.” He eyes the piece of candy skeptically, but Hermione’s decently sure he’s smiling under the mask. “I’d offer you tea, but I’m slightly out of commission,” Hermione says and gestures at her knee.

“I think I can handle tea,” Kakashi says noncommittedly.

“Perfect, I take mine with a splash of milk.” A second to regroup could do them both well, Hermione thinks, and tea is grounding.

Kakashi disappears to the kitchen, the piece of candy still in his hand. For a second Hermione wonders is he’ll eat it out there or take the opportunity to throw it away. She tries listening for signs of either but can’t tell. Without company to distract her the anxiety starts to creep back in the space left after the dried up tears, making her question everything she has said since Kakashi showed up. It’s stupid, nothing can be done about it now and it turned out okay, but it’s not to be helped.

The thing is, even if she made Kakashi uncomfortable, and even if that makes her stomach clench now, it had felt good at the time. The response might have been a little lacking, but at least now somebody _knows_. And Kakashi doesn’t seem to judge her by it. As far as she can tell. Yet.

Hermione has always talked her way through stuff, whenever there has been someone around to talk to. Putting words to the jumbled-up pieces floating around in her brain put them in some semblance of order and made them easier to deal with. “I don’t need you to try and solve my problems,” she’d told Ron once, “I just need you to listen.” It’s a lifetime ago now, before everything turned sour and she lost what she’d once thought would be forever. At least Kakashi is unlikely to attempt to give her unneeded practical advice.

.oOo.

Kakashi makes teas in Hermione’s kitchen. He’s seen her do it twice, and he might have lost the sharingan but its perfect recollection isn’t needed here. With teacups and strainers already on the table Kakashi waits for the kettle to boil. Hermione’s stuck in the living room, out of sight, and he allows himself a short moment to breathe. The edge of the countertop digs into his palms as he leans against it, head bowed forward.

The coiled feeling of adrenaline is abating, leaving behind renewed weariness. Hermione must have read his uneasiness off him this time, and decided to show some mercy, but he’s not sure that helped. She’d been a better support over the phone for someone she disliked than he’d ever managed to be for the students he cared for. Her words for him had only driven that point home. This shouldn’t have to be complicated.

Vulnerability freaks Kakashi out, there’s no other way to put it. He doesn’t do it, and he can’t handle it in others. A shinobi must never show weakness, after all. But Hermione is no shinobi, and as such doesn’t know the rules. If she did Kakashi suspects she might disagree with them. Hearing her confession just minutes ago was jarring. The worst part is that Kakashi can relate to the feeling. At the academy he’d been approached by numerous kids who seemed to want nothing but a chance to either gain from his prowess or bring him back to their level. The fact that he was much younger than them only made it worse. He hasn’t thought about the academy in years, had almost forgotten it, and now here it is at the top of his mind. Great.

He used to hate teamwork, because it always held him back. Now he knows it’s all depending on the team. That it doesn’t have to be that way. There are always people at your level, better even, you just have to find them. Maybe that’s what he should have told Hermione, if he could only figure out how. Preferably in a timely manner too.

“Do you play boardgames?” Hermione asks as Kakashi brings the tea out to the living room. “Because there’s a Ticket to Ride if you have the time to spare.” It’s not a game Kakashi has ever heard of, but he has little to lose by agreeing.

Knowing the game and the rules gives Hermione a clear advantage to start with, but it’s not a complicated setup and Kakashi catches up quickly. Unfortunately, the cards are too small to drink tea behind, and Kakashi juggles cards, book, teacup and mask in different combinations while the heat of the liquid rapidly fades. He’s using three purples and a locomotive to claim Warszawa to Berlin when Hermione speaks.

“So,” she says casually, “how are you doing? Did you catch up on sleep?” Kakashi moves his marker seven steps before looking at her.

“I did,” he tells her. Hermione doesn’t need to know details, it was a simple yes or no question.

“Did it help?” Hermione takes a yellow car, turn a black one up from the deck, and draws from the deck next. Kakashi wonders if she’s doing it to take her attention off him. If she thinks that will make a difference somehow.

Taking the two black cars now on the table isn’t great for postponement, but Kakashi needs them to get from Berlin to Frankfurt. He doubts a longer turn would help him figure out an answer anyway. The evasion he means to use is halted by Hermione speaking again. “Listen,” she says, lowering her cards and catching Kakashi’s eyes. “If you don’t want to talk about it just say so, okay? I know I’m being too pushy and invasive and are forcing you to talk about things you don’t want to, and I’m _trying_ not to ask those things, but I don’t know which they are, and I’m going stir crazy second-guessing myself here.”

Hermione’s mouth snaps shut, and she closes her eyes for a second. “Sorry,” she says as she opens them again, “really sorry. I’m hopeless at keeping things inside, I know it’s annoying. Please ignore my meddling and keep reacting however you see fit.”

Moving forward with her turn Hermione claims a route somewhere, Kakashi can’t really tell. His head is spinning, in both senses of the word. The first time Hermione acted like this; he left, and that was wrong. The second time; he said nothing, and that was wrong. Tactically, the next step would be to say _something_ this time, but there are no words to be found. He will screw this up. He will be Hokage when he gets home. He will screw that up too. He should get to his turn, but he can’t remember the rules.

“Hey,” Hermione says and Kakashi knows he’s supposed to do something, he does, but, “hey!” Kakashi looks up at the sharper tone. He knows a command when he hears one. “Are you spiraling into a panic attack?” Kakashi has no idea how he’d know, or what she’s talking about really. He definitely doesn’t know how to answer. “Okay, too complicated question.” Hermione’s tone is calm. It should be angry or disappointed or something, but it’s not. “Tell me five things you can see.” It’s an order, albeit a strange one. Shinobi follow orders.

 “Train carts,” Kakashi says, “map, cards, stations, markers.” Speaking is easier than he imagined.

“Good. Now four things you can touch.”

“Why?” Kakashi can’t help but ask. He was never the best at blindly doing what he’s told, and it hasn’t gotten better with age. Hermione’s smile is crooked and her eyes piercing in a way Kakashi can’t quite translate.

“It’s a grounding technique,” she explains, scratching at her chin. “Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste. You were-” she hesitates slightly - “unresponsive, and I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

It didn’t, Kakashi thinks. He’s not sure it helped either, but on the other hand he’s having a conversation now. It might not be perfectly regular, but it’s doable and on a far better topic than a minute ago. Kakashi puts down three red cars and claims Kyiv to Smolensk. Silence while doing something can at least pretend to be uncomplicated.

They exchange a few words over the game, but Kakashi’s mind is occupied with the things he couldn’t answer. Doing more than one thing at a time is well within his capabilities, but Hermione’s familiarity with the game is showing. He was given a free pass away from the question of whether sleeping had helped. Kakashi could take it, won’t even need to admit he doesn’t wish to answer it, because they left it behind already. If only his mind could do the same, it would be appreciated. As it is, the earlier topic grows like a weed over all his thought, breaking in jagged edges against the memory of Hermione’s voice as she called herself pushy, invasive and annoying. It’s not the first three words he would use to describe her.

“It didn’t help,” Kakashi finally says as Hermione is busy trying to build a tunnel between Marseille and Roma. She looks up at him, confusion in the lines on her face. “Sleeping,” Kakashi clarifies, “I’m still tired.” The words are heavy on his tongue, fighting against being formed, but they come out sounding surprisingly normal. It’s for Konoha, he tells himself, he’s doing this for Konoha, and he can make sure they never know of this temporary shortcoming of his.

“Yeah,” Hermione backs out of her tunneling project, “I figured.” She looks across the table at Kakashi, and from the words she could be frustrated or disappointed or a number of things, but she’s not. She gives Kakashi a small smile.

No follow-up questions come, and they get back to playing. Kakashi feels fuzzy, his heart beating fast. The sky stays where it is. Nothing comes crashing down.

The light has begun to fade outside as they count the final score. “Not bad for a first-timer,” Hermione tells him. “You’re welcome for a rematch tomorrow if you want.”

“Hm,” Kakashi narrows his eyes, “maybe I will. I can’t really let this score stand, can I?” He doesn’t care much about winning things like this, but for the sake of the game he can pretend. It wouldn’t surprise him if Hermione sees right through it.

“Well, I might hold you to that,” Hermione grins easily. “I could use some company if I’m going to survive this convalescence.”

Kakashi realizes on his way back he never asked her about the leg. Dealing with these things at home is easier; he always finds the details out beforehand, through the backchannels, just like everyone else. But probably you are meant to ask civilians about their injuries? He’ll have to make sure to do it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not at all how I imagined this chapter going, but I’ve probably mentioned the way the characters have a way of doing their own thing, despite whatever plans I made. Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions in PTSD in this, consider yourself warned.

There are less than 400 feet from Hermione’s house to Kristín and Ingo’s, but most of it is a steep incline setting the bigger house further up the mountainside. A regular day, walking up there for lunch is draining. On crutches it’s a bit of an ordeal, with getting back down being even worse. They’ve offered to come pick Hermione up by car, or bring her lunch to her, but she’s declined. This little bit of exercise and fresh air is all she gets at the moment; she can live with some ache in her arms and shoulders.

Kakashi comes within sight as Hermione starts her way back, and she’s made it only halfway when he joins her. He’s early, or would be if they decided on a time yesterday. The living room’s a mess, the dishwasher needs emptying and loading, and she’s got laundry to take care of, but she decides not to care. If Kakashi’s as obsessively neat as the soldiers she’s seen on tv that’s his problem.        

“I’m early,” Kakashi stops next to Hermione where she’s taken a break during their greetings. They agree on that part at least. Hermione shrugs.

“Not really,” she says, “I’ll be home in –” she eyes the distance to her door – “three minutes, so if you can manage walking that slowly you’re all good.”

“I could hand-walk there in less than three minutes,” Kakashi informs her dryly. Despite the badly disguised jab about her speed Hermione can’t help but grin.

“Yeah? Prove it,” Hermione challenges him. Kakashi looks at her, hands still in his pockets.

“I don’t need to prove what I already know.” Hermione reaches out and shoves his shoulder. She didn’t think he’d let her, but he does.

“Easy to talk big with that attitude, isn’t it?” Hermione smirks as she moves her crutches a step below her and carefully jumps forward on the gravel. Kakashi raises his trademark eyebrow at her, takes his hands out and effortlessly flips backwards into a handstand. “Er,” Hermione manages, even as she’s laughing. “I admit I didn’t see that coming.”

“You are falling behind,” Kakashi informs her, tone deceptively flat. He is already several steps ahead of her. Jumping on crutches while laughing turns out to be more work than Hermione would have guessed. This is insane.

“You sure you’re in the military and not in the circus?” It’s hard to tell from this angle, but Hermione is relatively certain Kakashi is hiding a smile under his mask. “Because this looks like circus tricks to me.”

“And you haven’t even seen me throw a knife,” Kakashi answers. Hermione has no idea if he’s pulling her leg or not. She needs to come up with a plan to find out.

Kakashi waits for Hermione to catch up, making handstand look like something natural and easy. Hermione knows it’s not, she did gymnastics for one horrible term in her youth, a few years before Hogwarts.

“What happened to your leg?” Kakashi asks once Hermione catches up. The tone is a little too nonchalant, making Hermione wonder if he has planned for the question. She’s done the same herself, many times, and as such doesn’t blame him. He could however use some practice on the delivery.

“A calf happened,” she tells him, “it got a bit overexcited when I brought them milk, twisted my knee.” Kakashi is still hand walking next to her, and the ridiculousness of the situation takes the sting of being injured out of the conversation.

“A tiny baby cow?” Kakashi asks her, and she can hear the skepticism even without seeing his face.

“Not so tiny when they’re a few months old, trust me,” Hermione reigns in the impulse to push him again. “You just wait, When I’m back om my feet I’ll take you to meet them. See how cocky you’ll be when you’re the one handling four calves and two milk-buckets.”

How Kakashi manages to shrug in his position Hermione can’t understand. “I guess we’ll see,” he says, non-committedly.

They’re drawing up on the house and Kakashi reverses his earlier backflip to get back to his feet. Normal people would fold with the joints, not against them, but maybe Kakashi never got that memo. Or he’s showing off, it’s not unlikely. “I stand corrected,” Hermione tells him, “and slightly awed. That is a weird talent to have.” She’s still grinning, fishing for more information with no hope of actually getting it.

“I depend on my body to survive,” Kakashi says as they enter the house, “it makes sense to practice things like balance, strength, agility, precision and coordination. They are no less important than how well you handle your weapons.” Hermione has enough follow-up questions that she might burst. She bites down on all of them. Kakashi shared something. A _small_ thing, but it feels genuine and was not a response to a direct question.

Hermione leaves her crutches in the hall. It’s over 48 hours since she was told to stay off it “a couple of days”, and two is the definition of a couple. Walking on her leg without causing pain or limping is slow work, but doable over short distances. Not maneuvering the crutches around random pieces of furniture is a freedom in its own way.

“Tea?” She asks Kakashi, more out of habit than an actual craving on her part.

“Sure,” Kakashi says behind her back as she passes the living room. She did leave it a mess, comforter piled on the sofa, computer, dirty dishes, and candy wrappers on the table, Ticket to Ride sitting on the floor.

“Why don’t you get started on that,” Hermione suggests, “and I’ll clean this place up enough that we can sit here?” Kakashi managed his way around her kitchen fine yesterday, he should be able to do the same today.

On her way back from her bedroom Hermione pops past the bathroom and dry-swallows a painkiller. It’s not ideal to take away the potential pain of an overexerted knee but it’s better than cramps. Walking with the pace of a sloth provides her with plenty of time to think about the day before, not that she’s done much else since.

Hermione’s mind needs problems to solve, which is excellent when there _are_ problems to solve, and less excellent when her mind makes them up for something to do. Last night she spent an awful lot of time fretting about whether telling Kakashi about her time at uni was the right thing to do, or if she was using him and his emotional spinelessness for her own gain. He is obviously uncomfortable with discussions that enters emotional territory. Uncomfortable being an understatement.

It’s impossible to know what her PMS-rant while playing had done to Kakashi; it could just have been a bout of normal speechlessness. The concepts of dissociation and panic attack are floating around in Hermione’s brain though, refusing to leave. They bring a sour taste to the back of her tongue.

Kakashi is a grown-up, and needs to take responsibility for his own boundaries, Hermione reminds herself. After Ron she’s sworn to never tiptoe around anyone ever again, not like that. She might need to change some of her ways, become less controlling for one, but she is not going to annihilate herself in the fear of stepping on invisible toes. Doing that to herself is as bad as staying would have been. It’s not an easy line to walk, the one between changing and eradicating herself, but she will keep at it, and Kakashi will disappear come fall anyway. As long as she gives him the choice beforehand she must try not to feel guilty afterwards. She knows, however, it will be easier said than done.

“What do you think about drinking the tea before your rematch?” Hermione asks Kakashi as she places the dirty dishes on the pile in the sink and throws away the trash. The man in question was staring emptily on the kettle when she came in but is now turned toward her. “That way you won’t have to do the whole cards-cup-book-thing you did yesterday.”         

“Sounds good,” Kakashi says, and a hint of a smile shows around his eyes. Hermione chooses to believe it’s a real one.

“You don’t happen to know anything about messed-up knees, do you?” Hermione asks as water is poured in the cups. “The doctor wasn’t very forthcoming and the best I’ve gotten from Google is to move slow enough I can avoid limping.”

“Sorry,” Kakashi says, “I’ve never twisted a knee, so I have no idea.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Hermione says. She carefully does _not_ ask about what else he’s done, or how he got the scar over his eye. Grabbing a plate for their strainers and her cup she sets off for the living room. “I just hope I’ll be back at work soon. Sitting around like this makes me feel horrible. I mean, I know it’s causing problems for Kristín and Ingo, even if they say it’s nothing to worry about.” She bites her lower lip, glad that Kakashi is behind her.

“You are injured,” Kakashi tells her, “there’s nothing you can do about it.” It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking; the voice gives too little away.

“True,” Hermione agrees, “but that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty about being here, eating their food, and doing nothing in return. What if it doesn’t get better in a few days? Then what?” She hates being useless and having this much time to think, it’s awful. But Kristín and Ingo made it clear she’s to stay at home and take it easy, and she knows she can’t bring it up with them again.

Silence falls for a moment before Kakashi answers. “Maybe, that is something you can figure out in a few days,” he says. “If it’s still relevant.”

Hermione can’t help a small twitch of her lips as she sets her load down on the coffee table. “I know,” she tells him, “you’re absolutely right, and I _know_ that, intellectually, I just fail at _feeling_ it.” Life would be easy if she could tell herself what to feel. Kakashi hums at her as she settles on the couch and he takes an armchair. Nothing more is said on the subject.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Hermione thinks as she resolves to move on to one of the subjects that’s been reveling in head on her behalf since yesterday. “I’ve been thinking,” she says as she watches Kakashi take the strainer from his cup and pull his book out of a pocket, “and you don’t have to answer this, but have you had any physical check-up for the tiredness. Blood tests, that sort of thing?” Kakashi blows on his tea behind the book.

“Sakura gave me medical clearance to go here,” he carefully says, “if that’s what you mean?” There’s an intangible wariness to him, and Hermione reminds herself that she is not responsible for knowing his boundaries. It’s the first time he names anyone from his life, and Hermione wants to ask who this Sakura is, but that would derail her from her point.

Foregoing the question Hermione gets her own tea to distract her hands while speaking. “When I had just turned eighteen,” she says instead, “something really bad happened. Several things, actually.” Long since prepared non-magical versions of the events swim in front of Hermione for a second, but she trusts Kakashi will not ask for them. The less she lies the better.

The eyes watching her over the book are sharp, and the hand not holding the book in place is curled around the cup resting against Kakashi’s leg. The china should be as scalding as the one Hermione holds, but Kakashi either doesn’t feel it or pays it no heed.

“Afterwards,” Hermione continues, “I was devastatingly tired.” She swallows, looking out the window behind Kakashi. A few horses are grazing on the windy slopes. Living one’s life outside in these conditions must be harsh. “I knew about PTSD, and I had expected the nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks. If you’d asked me before I’d said that off course having nightmares interrupt my sleep would make me tired, but that wasn’t it. At all.”

Movement draws Hermione’s gaze to Kakashi as he with a practiced move takes his thumb from the book and hooks it in the fabric of his mask, covering his face before lowering the book. His arms cross as much as possible with the teacup still in his right hand. Hermione has more lined up, has been saying this in her head over and over, and she presses on. From what she has seen over the last two times they’ve met, maybe even before that, he needs to hear this. After all, he’d once told her he was sent here because his boss thought he needed a break.

“My parents were, away,” Hermione takes a sip of tea to loosen up her throat, “but when they got back I lay on the couch for weeks. It was all I could do. Getting there from bed was an accomplishment, I couldn’t do anything, I just…

“I had a therapist, and she said stress does the strangest things to you. I knew I had PTSD, but I started reading about stress in general and I realized different diagnoses overlap quite a bit. When I knew what to look for I could see signs of toxic stress _years_ back. Long before the PTSD became an issue. So, there I was; eighteen years old, with symptoms of PTSD and burn-out, and an autonomic nervous system so out of whack there was nothing in-between feeling either keyed up or paralyzingly fatigued.

“The thing is; when you’re run down like that, your energy-reserves goes away. Any little thing could drain them completely, and I had to fight for things that used to be effortless. I couldn’t plan, or follow instructions, or figure out how things worked. It was…” Hermione shakes her head, pushes herself out of emotional territory to keep going. “High amount of stress for long time breaks down not only your body, but your brain too,” she says. “It can get better though. _I_ got better. With a lot of help.”

Hermione falls silent, she’s losing her bearings. Her insides are a jumbled chaos and whatever else she had planned to say is gone now. Warmth against her hands remind her she’s got tea to drink. She takes the distraction.

“I don’t expect you to answer any of this,” she tells Kakashi. “And I don’t claim to know anything about you, or your history. I just wanted you to know that I can relate to being tired in a way that makes normal things impossible.”

The stillness in Kakashi provides a stark contrast to the twitch of his hand. He blinks. The first syllable of Hermione’s planned topic-change hangs alone in the air between them as Kakashi rises. He brings the cup to the kitchen. Hermione can hear the tea pouring down the drain and the soft sound of china hitting glass reverberating through the piled dishes. She should say something. Stop him.

He doesn’t slam the door on his way out; he closes it carefully.

“Fuck,” Hermione says into the palm of her hand. In some situations it’s a perfectly reasonable word. “Shit.” She rubs her cheek. There’s no point trying to follow him, she has no chance of catching up.

This is not how Hermione imagined Kakashi establishing boundaries. Now that it’s happened it seems like the natural response. She shouldn’t be surprised. Hermione closes her eyes and breathes through the storm raging inside her; tries telling herself that it was an honest mistake, that she didn’t mean to push him, that if she’d been a little faster to change the subject it would have been fine. It helps marginally. This time she can’t even blame it on PMS, this is all her. She needs to learn not everything has to be on her terms.

The worst part is that apologizing is close to impossible. Hermione can’t drive. Can’t walk.  Doesn’t know his phone number. And Kristín or Ingo would help, if she asks for it, but she imagines their faces when they answer and knows she can’t do it. She’ll have to wait for Kakashi to come back or her knee to heal, whichever happen first. Probably the latter.

She really fucked up this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliff hanger here but I’ve waited with publishing this chapter because of that, and it should be less time before the next one. In the meantime; let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

The knocks don’t come until after Hermione has locked the front door. She freezes, heart beating fast against her ribcage. There’s no peephole. Even if there was it is pitch dark outside, the night overcast and rainy. If this was a movie Hermione would be killed in the next couple of minutes. She hopes it not a movie. Her life has had enough fiction-worthy contents as it is; statistically it should be smooth sailing from here. But since when has probability taken into account what has already happened?                      

The problem is that whoever is outside might need help. They could have a broke down car or something, and the slide of the bolt would have told them she is here. Hermione is not the kind of person who refuses help to those in need. Especially not for ridiculous reasons like fear. Especially with a voice in her head screaming that it _could_ be Kakashi. _Kakashi_. Who walked out this afternoon, probably to never return.

Or it could be a murderer. It’s even odds.

If Hermione opens the door with her left hand, she can rest her right one on the crutches. Hopefully it serves as enough of a weapon to get the door shut again, should the need arise. She takes a breath. Moves the step back to the door and tries to look casual while grabbing the crutch. Shifting the thumbturn must make a sound, but Hermione doesn’t hear it.

It is Kakashi. Out of all the scenarios she’s imagined since he left, none come close to this. Hermione is _not prepared_ for this. At all. The pulse should have slowed now that she’s no longer getting murdered, but the sight of her neighbor in his usual relaxed stance mostly makes Hermione faint. Realizing her lungs is screaming for oxygen and filling them with air helps bring things back in focus.

“Do I need to worry about that?” Hermione follows Kakashi’s eyes to the crutch. Of course, he notices. Awkward.

“No, sorry,” Hermione says and puts it back against the wall, “you scared me is all. Or well, not _you_ , really. But someone knocking on the front door of my very isolated, very lonely house at half past ten.” Hermione is calming down. It’s only Kakashi, she can do this. “You’re not here to murder me I assume?”

“No,” Kakashi says. Only the light in the kitchen is still on, and it casts a sickly yellow glow through the window, making weird shadows across Kakashi’s face. The longer she looks the more convinced Hermione gets that the carefree pose is forced. There’s no proof, just feeling. A strangeness not only brought by the time or how his visit ended this afternoon.

“Are you coming in?” Hermione asks when the silence gets too thick and a gust of wind wraps ice around her bare arms. “It’s freezing.”  

Kakashi’s shoulders twitch, and Hermione backs away from the door to lean against the white wall. The doorway to the rest of the house is right beside her, but Kakashi stills once the door is closed, making no motion to take of shoes or jacket. His hair is wilting, heavy with rain. Something should be said, but Hermione doesn’t know what. She wants to apologize. Explain she meant no harm. He’s here for a reason though, and there’s a risk she’ll hijack the conversation if she gets started on everything she did wrong this afternoon. She will scare him off again.

The relative darkness doesn’t allow for colors or small details. It both hampers and facilitates communication. “I’m sorry,” Hermione says in the end, her voice too loud in her ears, “about before.”  She needn’t have worried about saying too much. All words fail her as she waits for a response. She wonders if Kakashi can hear her heartbeat too.

“Why do you insist on taking the blame for things I do?” Kakashi’s words are slow and rough around the edges. “I already told you I’m bad at this.” Hermione wonders what expression is on his face. If any.

“You did,” Hermione agrees. Her throat is tight, only allowing for small words. “So, I shouldn’t push,” she tries to explain, “I shouldn’t force you into things. I should reign myself in and definitely _not lecture_. And I’m sorry I’m doing those things anyway. I try not to.” Crossing your arms over your chest is proven to reduce your uptake on what others say. Hermione does it anyway. Because she’s cold, and because this conversation was not supposed to be about her.

“Have I given you the impression I want you to do that?”

Hermione opens her mouth. Closes it again. What question is she supposed to answer here? Is Kakashi saying what she thinks he’s saying – or the complete opposite? “I don’t know what you,” Hermione’s voice breaks. She looks away, hoping the darkness will hide the sheen she knows is in her eyes.

Hands still in his pockets Kakashi leans back against the door. He takes a breath, Hermione can see his chest expanding. Takes another one. “I apologize,” he finally says, formal and deceitfully calm, “I didn’t mean to make you to feel like that.”  

Laughing is the least propriate response to Kakashi’s words, but Hermione does it anyway. It’s either that or cry. She is too tired to cry. “You didn’t,” she manages. “It’s not.” Tears falling is completely normal when laughing this hard. Merlin, Hermione is losing it. She tries speaking again; “I just.” Wrestling herself under control works only because the fear of Kakashi walking away is sharp enough to pierce through the pandemonium.

“Okay, miniature mental breakdown. Sorry about that.” She wipes her cheeks. “What I was trying to say was you don’t have to worry. I know I’m an obnoxious know-it-all control freak. That’s what I’m trying to tell you: _I know_.” Ron had told her enough times. When he was annoyed. When he was serious. When he was scratching her back at night. How difficult she is to live with had been a standing joke with everyone they knew. She’d laughed only on the outside, in the end.

Kakashi watches her quietly. Hermione envisages being an occlumens. Unfortunately, she’s too righteous to use invasive techniques of any kind to satisfy her need for knowledge, no matter what Ron thinks. And Ron needs to get out of her head. When Kakashi speaks it is nowhere near what Hermione expects. “Tea?” he asks.  

The laugh that slips out this time is short and cracked. Hermione rubs her eyes. “Sure,” she says, “why not?” It’s late. She should go to bed. But for once Kakashi is taking some kind of initiative and it’s not like she’s got milking in the morning.

The brightness of the pendant lamp over the table stabs at Hermione’s eyes as she enters the kitchen. She turns it off. Kakashi doesn’t have to see her face in that much detail, the light from the kitchen hood alone is revealing enough. The book she refuses to call her diary is sitting on the table. It’s an exclusive hardback with thick, blank pages. She filled six or seven of them with neat writing before going to lock up. As she moves the collection of heavy thoughts wrapped in their blue cover she wonders if Kakashi was standing outside in the rain when she was writing. If he watched her.

Hermione’s phone is still connected to the stereo in the kitchen, and for her sanity’s sake she presses play on the active album. The soft strings of Goldmund’s Corduroy Road float around her, and the familiarity eases her insides. Unprompted Kakashi starts on the tea. Hermione limps away to get him a towel for his dripping hair.

“Here,” she says as she presents it. Kakashi is always in control of his body, but his movements now are micromanaged. He towels his hair. Takes the two steps to the doorway. Stands with his back to her as he wipes his face. Courtesy dictates Hermione finds something else to focus on, so she digs out matches and lights the candle on the table. The preference of living lights with their warm tones is one thing she didn’t leave in the magical world.

Hermione has only two-thirds of her tea left when Kakashi speaks. She’s acclimated to the silence and the detached voice snaps her eyes up from the candle flame. The book is nowhere to be seen; Kakashi’s tea untouched apart from the hands wrapped loosely around the cup. “What were the symptoms,” he asks the glass pane of the window. He could be looking at Hermione’s reflection, or out in the nothingness. Hermione doesn’t check. She’s the one meant to answer either way.

“Symptoms?” Hermione answers, even if she has a hunch what he’s talking about. Her mind is scattered, part of it left with their conversation in the hallway, part following the soft piano notes, part on Kakashi and his question. All of it is wide awake now.

“You said, earlier, about when you were a teenager.” Kakashi can’t even say the words, Hermione guesses. Jesus.

“PTSD,” Hermione fills in for him, “burn-out, toxic stress in general?” Kakashi’s eyes flickers to hers momentarily and any joke Hermione thought about making dies. “Okay,” she concedes, “tell me what you already know and I can spare you from repeats.”

The shrug comes off close to a flinch, and that’s it, Hermione realizes. That’s what is behind the composed façade. “Nothing?” she clarifies, because he _should_ know, at least about PTSD. It’s 2019 and soldiers - for all that their environment might reek of testosterone and manly inabilities to deal with emotions – should at least have a basic understanding of PTSD, shouldn’t they? Hermione breaths. Pushes down her bafflement and pretends everything is normal.

“I have no idea where to start,” Hermione says. The sorting hat placed her in Gryffindor for a reason, however, and she might not be a medical professional, but she’s done a lot of reading on this.

The thing is, Hermione loves sharing what she knows. All the little pieces of the universe that she has managed to slot together to form one picture is astounding in their simplicity once she gets them into shape. It gives a clarity where she doesn’t have to remember things, because it is how the world works. When she gets her image right new facts slides effortlessly into place. Like they’ve been there all along. It’s marvelous. Until something comes along that will neither fit nor be discarded and everything is upended. Only to slowly form a new view. More often than not it’s a better one at that.

People tend to get a variety of annoyed and offended when she tries to explain things, not understanding that she only wants them to see what she sees. She never means to be a know-it-all, or to lecture or reprove; it just happens when she gets carried away. But Kakashi asked, and that gives her the opportunity to tell him.

With hands that gesture on their own accord. With a frankly inappropriate amount of enthusiasm given the topic. Hermione speaks.

She tells Kakashi the basics about PTSD and how she thinks it needs to be divided into two parts: Post-trauma and stress. How the stress reactions are overlapping an array of other stress issues. How stress breaks the autonomic nervous system and gets you stuck fight, flight or freeze mode. Staying clinical helps speaking about things that hurts even now, but knowing her experience can help someone else makes all the difference. Harry might have been said to have a saving-people-thing, but the older she gets the more Hermione understands he never had that. Harry has a problem with authority and a hero-complex. It’s not the same. Between them it’s Hermione who has always been the first to come to the aid of others, be it magical creatures or friends in need. But the low-key, every day, more typically female way she goes about it isn’t the thing you write headlines about. No one will ever write about her.

“As for the symptoms, I’d have to get you a list,” Hermione finally says. She’s been speaking for too long already. “I have one, in fact. It’s got like 50 or 60 items, all of which I had at one point or another.” Kakashi blinks at her, fully turned towards her now.

“I’d advice against self-diagnosing though,” Hermione tells him when it’s clear he doesn’t intend to speak. “Lots of things can give similar symptoms, and even with established PTSD or burn-out you could also have a malfunctioning thyroid or some deficiency that makes you tired. So,” Hermione lets a shrug finish the sentence.

The silence from Kakashi is far less stifling with music in the background. Hermione sips what’s left of her tea and focus on the candle in front of her, folding the paraffin edges with mindful fingertips. “So, you’re saying I’m probably not having what you had? They just need to take some samples and they can fix me?” Kakashi says after a while, tone regulated and with a slight crease between his eyebrows.

Hermione barely manages to bite back a sigh. Of course, that would be the part he’s choose to hear. “I’m saying you should go to a doctor and let them decide.” It’s diplomatic, but Hermione can do nothing else. She wants to rant about mental health problem and not being any less for having them, but this is not the time. “Do you want me to help you with gatting an appointment?” She asks instead, because she knows how impossible small things like that can be. Kakashi gets up every day, he feeds the sheep, and runs, and meets up with her. On the surface; he functions. Only Hermione has seen enough glimpses of something else to not take anything for granted.

Kakashi’s hum is not an answer, but it will have to do. “Okay,” Hermione says, “I’ll set something up. I should be driving soon so I can take you if Sunna and Þorir are working.” There is no refusal. It’s as much of a win as Hermione thinks she’ll ever get.

“I’m making myself more tea,” Hermione says as the album starts over, “and a sandwich. You want something?” She eyes the untouched tea, Kakashi’s hands remaining curled protectively around the cup. Sitting around in silence should feel more awkward than it does, but something to eat and drink will be a good distraction.

“I don’t have my book,” Kakashi says. Behind his mask his cheeks move up with the corner of his eyes, but the smile is far from joyful. It’s the most expressive he’s been all night.

Hermione fetches The Wee Free Men from her rather extensive collection of paperbacks and places it on the table. “For you to borrow,” she says, “if you want to read something different. Now, do you want anything?”

They eat bread with cheese and jam, and Hermione lies without guilt when Kakashi asks if she’s tired and wants to go to bed. Ticket to Ride can be worth more than sleep, and part of being an adult is the ability to ignore responsibilities. There is no reality in which Hermione kicks Kakashi out tonight. Not after he came back.

Conversation over the game is sparse but effortless, the heavy subjects laid aside for now. The album is on it’s third repeat when Hermione regards the board diagonally, her cheekbone resting on her closed fist. She yawns.

“You are tired,” Kakashi says. Dryly amused by the ginormous display of observation skill, Hermione raises her eyebrows with the smile that forms. “We can finish this another day.” Kakashi gestures to the game.

“Yeah? You’re only saying that because you are behind.” Not by enough that anything’s certain, but Hermione doesn’t point that out. “I’m fine,” she assures Kakashi. It’s nearing one o’clock, but she can sleep in tomorrow. He can’t. “If you’re tired and want to go home, that’s fine. You don’t have to blame it on me.” She said fine twice in ten seconds, Hermione notices. Her vocabulary does not profit from the hour.

Kakashi draws new tickets before answering. That doesn’t bode well for Hermione’s advantage. “I am quite awake,” he says. _My heartrate is stuck over 80 and I couldn’t sleep if I tried_ , Hermione hears. It’s in the way Kakashi’s finger taps against his cards and the shuffle between positions.

“Still coming down from the adrenaline rush?” Hermione asks as Kakashi adds two of the tickets to his pile. It’s foregone conclusion, expressed carefully to not mention the whys or hows, only that she understands. London – Amsterdam is claimed in the silence after her question, then Pamplona – Madrid. She never did expect an answer.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” The syllables are formed too smoothly, like Kakashi’s put a lot of effort into sanding away jagged edges. Hermione casually finishes her move of picking up cars.

“When?” she asks. Kakashi is staring blankly at his hand. The tapping has stopped. “Now, or…” 

For a while it looks like there will be nothing more said. Like Kakashi took one step out on thin ice and is now afraid to move, cracks spreading out around him. Backwards or forwards, they’re both equally likely to break the equilibrium. The shrug is slow, more of an exaggerated breath. “Now,” he finally admits. “Earlier. In the hallway. This afternoon. Do you need more examples?”

Hermione centers her bodyweight and places the cards on the table. Leans forward enough that the edge of the tabletop bites into her forearms. “Not really,” she says, and loosens her clasped hands enough that she can fiddle with her thumbnails. The implied question is a heavy one, but it’s a warm weight that flutters in her chest. Because Kakashi asked it. “I think,” she continues slowly, hoping she can get this right, “that there’s two very different scenarios in there.”

“If the topic is - in any way - about _you_ , then you don’t have to answer. At all.” Hermione meets Kakashi’s eyes with the last words. He swallows. “Ever.” Of all the things floating around in her mind that is the most urgent one. “I don’t mind you telling me you don’t want to talk about things. In fact, that makes things easier for me. I believe that sharing things with others is the only way to relieve some of the pressure before you blow up. I know I’m like that. But you need to do you, not me.”

Allowing herself a moment to gather her thoughts Hermione lowers her eyes to the board. She’s getting used to Kakashi not cutting in. “When it’s the other way around…” Hermione rubs her eyes. “I’m not sure anyone knows what to say, really. I know I usually don’t.”

An eyebrow raises on the other side of the table and Hermione feels her cheeks tugging upward as she raises her hands in the air. “Honestly. I don’t. I share my thoughts when they seem relevant, and if not? People usually doesn’t want solutions anyway, they just want to get it off their chest. They want to know they’re not freaks for feeling that way, and that they won’t be abandoned because they’re hurting. Keep that in mind and you’ll be fine. Oh, and be honest. Never lie.”

Kakashi’s stare is locked somewhere mid-air before he closes his eyes and deflates slightly. “Too much information?” Hermione asks. The movement of Kakashi’s head could be interpreted as a nod. “Okay,” Hermione racks her brain for the bullet point version. “You are allowed to _not_ share. When someone gets emotional; let them do most of the talking. And always be honest. Saying ‘I don’t know what to say’ works more often than you think.”

“Like now?” There’s loss of tension Kakashi’s voice and his eyes betray what might be a smile beneath the mask.

“Like now.” Hermione wants to reach out to him, offer the kind of physical support she’d give other friends of hers. “It’s your turn,” she says instead and picks up her discarded cards.

The win goes to Kakashi this time. Hermione blames it on the fact she can hardly keep her eyes open. She offers for him to stick around, sleep on the couch if he doesn’t want to battle the rain and darkness outside. That he declines is self-evident.

“You know where to find me,” Hermione tells him as he zips up his jacket. There are more things she wants to say, but they will have to wait.

“Obviously,” Kakashi answers, eyeing her crutches, “since you can’t leave your house.” The dry tone accentuates the smile, but Hermione can see beyond the joke.

“Good night Kakashi,” she says in the cold air of the open door. He answers in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m aware I skipped some parts of Hermione’s lecture on PTSD. If you – like Kakashi – don’t have the basic knowledge of what it is, please type it into your search engine of choice. We’ll come back to it however, as well as stress disorders. On that topic I also want to say that while I have experience in toxic stress and burn-out, I have no personal knowledge of PTSD. If I get things about it wrong; know that I mean no offence and please let me know how to correct it.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review. You mean a lot to me!


	10. Chapter 10

Kakashi stares blankly at the screen in front of him. He knows he’s supposed to be reading the words on it, Hermione having found her list for him and all, but there’s a reason he’s been getting nowhere with the book she lent him.

Ironically, the lines where his eyes rest reads _Problem concentrating_ and _Difficulties processing information_. And, yeah. Okay. But that’s normal when you’re tired, right?

Duty demands he follow the list, top to bottom, and he sees the words but cannot quite grasp the concept of many of them. _Loss of vocabulary/Hard finding words_ he does catch, as well as _Sense of hopelessness_ , _Shakiness_ , _Blurry vision_ , _Feeling faint_ , _Dizziness_ and _Feeling sick/Having random fevers_.

Faintness describes the feeling in Kakashi’s body well enough, but getting a fever after being outside in the rain at night is hardly random. It lasted less than a day anyway. His problems are clearly physical, and Hermione has already told him he’s got an appointment with the doctor next week. He’ll get some pills and it will be fine. Sakura just didn’t know what to look for.

“Too much information?” Hermione asks him from the couch. The soft clacks of knitting needles accompany her voice. “You look a little empty.” Kakashi looks up to find her watching him, hands moving on their own. He’d thought he was safe as long as she worked.

After the fever broke the exhaustion remained, but given how he messed up last time Kakashi figured he couldn’t stay away for more than two full days without Hermione possibly taking offence. He couldn’t risk that. Dragging himself here after lunch today had been unpleasant, but shinobi doesn’t show weakness. Hermione had let him in, and hadn’t asked questions, and for a while Kakashi thought he’d gotten away with it. Apparently, he was wrong.

“I’m fine,” Kakashi says in response to the question, “just a little tired.” Hermione did tell him to be honest but saying he doesn’t want to answer something so innocuous will draw attention. Tiredness is his problem anyway, so he is telling the truth.

“Just a little?” The needles fall silent as Hermione’s focus turns more fully to Kakashi. It makes him want to run away again. If he had the energy. Instead he looks back at the laptop, pretending to read. “Kakashi,” Hermione says, calling his attention back, “are you okay?” There’s a tension to Hermione’s face, a softness in her voice, and Kakashi doesn’t know what to do with either.

“I’m fine,” he repeats. She should have heard him the first time, and this line of conversation should be deflected, but his brain is uncooperative and refuse to tell him how.

“Not in that voice, you’re not.” Kakashi has no idea what voice she means, he made very certain not to let his emotions bleed through. He is trained in undercover work, he knows how to keep things to himself. “So, I’m guessing more than a little tired?” Hermione says it with a smile and raised eyebrows, more joke than anything else. Maybe that’s what make Kakashi shrug.

He was okay when he got here, a little faint from walking, but _okay_ , and he’d been keeping up with the discussion and drunk his tea and everything. Hermione had brought out the laptop with the list they’d talked about last time, asking if Kakashi still wanted to see it, and he did. He might not be mentally ill, but maybe there are things to help understand Hermione. Only now that the computer sits on his lap, his brain has taken the minute of silence as permission to check out. His energy drained out like he’s been overusing the sharingan he no longer possesses.

“Okay,” Hermione says. She puts her yarn and needles on the table and stands up, moving much easier than a few days ago. “I’ll take that.” She grabs the computer doing an awkward half-crunch in front of Kakashi to accommodate for her knee. “You want to lie down for a while?”

“I…” Kakashi has no idea how to answer. Shinobi doesn’t show weakness. He has failed already if Hermione feels the need to ask this. Now, he needs to figure out how to negate the damage.

“It wasn’t really intended as a question.” Hermione tries to make it sound like an order but she’s a civilian.

“I’m good.” It comes out sharper than intended, the force of it kicking some life into Kakashi’s body. Hermione withdraws back to the edge of the couch.

“Alright.” She drags her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “Alright. For the record though; if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

Kakashi wants to get to his feet and scream that it’s not, that nothing about this is _okay_ , preferably followed by a dramatic exit. Simultaneously, he wants to curl up in the armchair, put his head on the armrest, and shut out the entire world. He does neither. Shrugs. Turns his head to look out the window. The sun is shining contentiously, reminding him that slacking off is unacceptable. He hasn’t been running for three days now.

The knitting starts up again. Kakashi leans his head back and closes his eyes, not to sleep but for the illusion of being alone. What is he doing here? He could be in his room now, away from Hermione’s prying eyes and impossible questions. Why does he keep doing this to himself? They’ll make him Hokage, and it will be a horrible decision, but it’s theirs to make. This isn’t helping him with anything, it is only making things worse.

The silence is unbroken except by the clacks of needles for a long time. Kakashi wonders what they would think about him, back home, if they saw him now. They are all fighting for Konoha, rebuilding it for the future, and Kakashi’s not certain he is fighting for anything, anymore. Tsunade was right about him after all, it is better that he stays away.

“Do you want me to teach you to knit?” Hermione says, interrupting Kakashi planning his retreat. “Or crochet maybe, that’s easier to get started on.” The offer is casual, having no trace of their previous discussion. She looks up at Kakashi, smile honest and open.

“Old ladies do that.” Kakashi raises an eyebrow. She can’t honestly believe he’s one for arts and crafts, especially needlework.

“And?” It’s drawn out enough to be part joke, part challenge. “Does that mean you’re unable to?” These are dangerous grounds, so Kakashi merely hums in answer. “I promise you, no special ladies-parts are needed to crochet.”

“Maa,” Kakashi says, “we’ll see about that. Sometime. Maybe.” He has wiggled his way out of worse jams than this one. “Now, I have sheep to feed.” A little early, but he’s done with this day.

The way Hermione laughs at him does not bode well. “I’ll hold you to that.” It’s a threat, delivered like a promise. “Next time you come by I’m bringing out the hooks. If you can swallow that manly pride of yours, you might even like it.” She chucks one of the balls of yarn at Kakashi, who picks it from the air. It’s rough under his fingers, and not as tightly wound as he thought. Throwing it in an arch from his left to right hand displays abysmal aerodynamics. Over a short distance he can account for that.

The ball bounces of Hermione’s forehead. She tries to look scandalous but fails to laughing. “See,” Kakashi tells her, “I’m perfectly able to handle the yarn already. No lessons needed.”

“And in such creative and productive way, too.” To smile at her comment feels like a betrayal against everyone back home who’s picking up Kakashi’s slack. He buries the sting.

“Well, I’m a genius,” Kakashi says, “and one that needs to get going.” What little energy he collected during the lull in conversation is dwindling.

“Want a ride?” Hermione asks as she gingerly stands up. “I’m trying to help out with milking this evening, and if I can do that I can drive.” Her smile has dimmed but the tone is warm.

“I’m fine.” Kakashi feels like a broken record, but any stronger adjectives would be a lie. He will under no circumstance allow her to drive him home.

Hermione nods. He watches the movement from behind as she leads the way down the corridor to the hall. A normal day, Hermione is difficult to understand. Today, it’s downright impossible. Kakashi cares less about that than he should. He dresses in silence, and when he reaches for the door handle Hermione’s fingers brush against the arm of his jacket. The touch isn’t solid enough to transfer through the fabric, and she withdraws almost before Kakashi realizes what happens.

“It’s Friday,” she says as Kakashi turns to her, “take the weekend to sleep and rest up, okay, and I’ll see you next week?” For a piercing second Kakashi hears that he should stay away. Leave her alone. That he has failed with her as he has with everyone else. The crease between her eyes reminds him of Naruto, however, seventeen years old and still refusing to give up on people. And of Rin, in the moments he didn’t push her away. Kakashi swallows. Closes his eyes as he fills his lungs.

“Sure,” he says, “next week.” Kakashi opens the door and leaves. Because going home is the plan. He is not running away. He just needs to sleep and get this virus out of his system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned out a short one. Hopefully the next one will be longer. Thank you for your response to the last chapter, I love hearing what you think.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no post. I’ve got a good reason though, namely I wanted the next chapter done before I posted this. It will be up shortly.

Kakashi is certain he never agreed to this. He didn’t explicitly say no either, because Hermione asked him at a time when he didn’t dare upset her more than he already had, but he’d thought he could weasel his way out of it later. It’s Thursday now, and they’re already on their way, and it’s too late to get out of anything. Yet, he found a way to deal with twelve-year-old horrifyingly shy, scared-of-her-own-shadow Sakura; her can find a way to deal with this.

The talking in the car can hardly be called a conversation. Hermione rants about something called Brexit that is apparently a mess. Kakashi looks out the window on the ice-columns frozen where water finds its way down the mountainside, lets Hermione’s words wash over him, and tries to hum in the right places. He wishes he’d been allowed to eat breakfast.

He leaves Hermione knitting in the waiting room and follows a woman with hair greyer than his through a pale-yellow corridor. She’s his doctor, Kakashi’s gathered. Apart from that, he has no idea what to expect. For as long as he remembers, his only visits to the hospital have been either ordered for a specific purpose, or started with him bleeding heavily or unconscious. This isn’t a shinobi hospital, it’s a civilian health care center, and he should turn around and leave. If he does, Hermione will see him, unfortunately. There are no good options here.

“Well, Kakashi, where are you from?” The doctor – who goes by a strange name Kakashi can’t remember – smiles at him from her chair by the desk. Kakashi looks out the window behind her. The sky is blue today, not a cloud in sight.

“Does that matter?” He asks. At the edge of his vision he catches movement in the doctor’s jaw.

“Not really,” she says, “but I think it’s good to know a little about my patients. To put the medicinal findings to perspective.” The original question isn’t repeated and Kakashi doesn’t offer the information. “How about how long you’ve been in Iceland, and how long you’re planning to stay? That is relevant for me to know.”

“Two and a half months. Probably another six months.” Glancing over at the doctor when she writes his answers down gives Kakashi little to go on.

She asks about what he does next, here and at home. When he says he’s in the army her eyes jump from the paper for a split second, taking him in before she finishes writing the word. Family medical history comes after that, and she doesn’t ask for details when he says he doesn’t know. He remembers little of his mother, apart from the hushed, tense atmosphere of her hospital room, and at this point there is no one he can ask.

“So, tell me; what can I help you with?” The doctor puts down her pen and adjusts her glasses. She smiles in what must be meant to be an encouraging way. But he can’t answer ‘Hermione,’ and that is all he has. “Your friend, out in the waiting room, was she the one who set the appointment?”

“Yes,” Kakashi says. A glance shows the doctor looking at something on her computer. On the wall opposite Kakashi are posters showing skinless human bodies. He tries to remember where all the chakra coils are.

“She said you suffer from – and I quote here – extreme tiredness, possibly due to depression, stress, PTSD, or other mental health issues. Does that sound about right?” Kakashi shrugs. The first part is not wrong. He tries to ignore the rest. The doctor adjusts her chair and faces him more directly. “Kakashi,” she says, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need help with.” She doesn’t rant and swear like Tsunade, doesn’t come off caring the way Sakura does. She is a nameless, faceless healer halfway across the world.

“I am tired,” he admits, eyes still on the poster, mind still on where the chakra coils would be.

“Okay,” she says, “in which way?”

With a myriad of questions, most of them requiring only a yes or no answer, the doctor coaxes it out of him: The exhaustion, the way he can’t fall asleep some evening and can’t stay awake some days, the unresponsiveness in his body, the fever he had last week, the way he sometimes looses track of the conversations he’s participating in. Kakashi’s speech is chopped up, most answers either monosyllabic or only a few words. Maybe that’s why his vocal cords cramp up and ache.

“Is every day the same or does it vary?” Kakashi looks from the poster to the doctor’s notebook, wishing he could understand what’s written there. He wouldn’t be here if the weariness of last week had followed him into this one. This conversation is exhausting enough as it is.

“It varies,” he says. The tightness is spreading down his throat, affecting his chest.

“Okay,” the doctor says. It’s been her reaction to everything so far. “I’d like you to fill this one out next.” She puts a paper and a pen down in front of Kakashi.

.oOo.

A piece of surgical tape pulls uncomfortably at the skin in the crook of Kakashi’s arm as he rejoins Hermione in the waiting room. The blood samples a nurse took from him after the doctor finished will take several days to analyze, and the doctor will call with the results. Hopefully he’ll never see this place again.

“All done?” Hermione asks, stowing the knitting away. Wisps of unruly hair are escaping the bun on the top of her head. _She thinks he’s mentally ill_ , he remembers. That’s what she said when she called to set the appointment. She thinks this is happening to him because he can’t control his own mind.

“Yep,” Kakashi says and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He tries a deep breath to try and force the pressure off his ribcage. Hermione moves relatively normal now, but the care for her knee is there if one knows where to look.

“How did it go?” Hermione asks once the door swings shut behind them. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a bit tired of answering question, to be honest.” He means for it to come out as a joke, he really does, but his voice goes flat in the wrong way. Hermione glances at him carefully. Like she thinks he’s losing it.

“Alright,” Hermione says, “how about,” she cuts herself off, “no, that’s a question.” She stops with a sigh and turns to him, effectively forcing him to do the same. The sunshine has a bit of warmth to it, and early promise of spring. “Unless you object I’m taking you to this café I know. I only had time for half a breakfast, and you haven’t eaten, and they make great pie.” Hermione’s shoulders shift in the silence, the details of the motion lost in her jacket.

It’s the perfect opportunity to distance himself from her. Just ask her to drive him home instead, and then never talk to her again, but Kakashi doesn’t want to risk an outright fight. He doesn’t have the energy for one at the moment. Besides, he is hungry.  He can get through this, and once he’ll get home he can avoid her peacefully. Kakashi is fully functional, tiredness or not, and he doesn’t need people in his life who thinks otherwise.

“Show me the way,” he says and folds his eyes to a smile.

.oOo.

“You are not his mother,” Hermione’s mum had said when Hermione told her about taking Kakashi to the doctor. It’s true, Hermione is not, but she likes to think she’s his friend. Friends are there for one another. “You need to stop sacrificing yourself for others. You care _too much_.” It’s been said so many times Hermione had known it was coming a good minute before the words were spoken. It’s also true. Probably. People have taken advantage of her again and again. Even so, Hermione refuses to see a world where me is put before we and caring comes with a prerequisite of getting more out of it for yourself.

Hermione has spent enough time with Kakashi by now to have a framework for how to read him. She knows which tone he uses when he jokes, how to tell from the shape of his chin under the mask if a smile reaches his lips, how he stills when he freaks out. She knows to tell his disinterested absences from his tired ones. But as they eat their pies, she has no idea what to make of him.

Kakashi can be distant in his laid-back way, but as they make small talk over the scruffy hardwood table of the café he is actively distant. More than that even, Hermione realizes; he’s being passive aggressive. And passive aggressiveness is probably on the top ten of Hermione’s most hated things, right along things like bigotry, wars, and alternative facts.

Finishing up her food Hermione folds her napkin up and throws it on her plate. A sigh escapes her. “Let’s get out of here,” she says. The whole thing is putting her in a bad mood.

The walk back to the car is done in silence.

Leaving the car key unturned in the ignition Hermione leans her head back and looks at the beige fabric on the ceiling above her. She doesn’t know who she’s angrier with: Kakashi for being infantile, or herself for being lousy enough to keep ending up in situations like this. Letting her head fall to the right she watches Kakashi watch the windshield.

“I was going to suggest a road trip to Goðafoss since it’s only half an hour from here, but since I’m not allowed to ask questions I guess we’re going home, huh?” Resorting to passive aggressiveness of her own might not be the best way to deal with this situation, but Hermione is hurt, and angry, and doesn’t feel like being reasonable.

“Whichever you want,” Kakashi tells the dashboard.

“What I _want_ ,” Hermione says, losing the passive dimension of her annoyance, “is for you to tell me what is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.” Kakashi glances at her, his composure stony calm, “except you are yelling at me.”

“Really?” Hermione makes a great effort to maintain speaking volume. “Really? Then what are you doing? Because the way I see it you’re either punishing me for something I didn’t to, which is unfair. Or, you’re angry about something I did do, without giving me the chance to either explain or apologize, which is also unfair. So, if you can quit being a baby about it and tell me what’s going on, that’d be great.”  Hermione crosses her arms but refuse to break eye contact. When fighting with a dog, whoever looks away first loses.

Kakashi unbuckles his seatbelt and turns away. Hermione feels victorious until she realizes he’s opening the door and stepping out. “What are you doing?” She asks, the edges sharp against her tongue.

“I’ll walk home,” Kakashi says, as if it’s a perfectly normal thing to do and Hermione’s not in the middle of a fight with him. He closes the door before Hermione can remind him it’s a 25-kilometer walk, but it’s his own damn fault anyway.

It’s tempting to scream or hit the steering wheel, like they do in the movies, but Hermione sits quietly and watches Kakashi walk away in the rearview mirror. Once he’s out of sight the impulse has gone away.

This is not good. No. This is fucked up. Beyond all reason. Hermione breaths, slowly, in and out. Tries to tell herself the pain in her abdomen is righteous indignation. It’s unfair, Kakashi behaving like an ass and then acting all innocent about it, walking away with his honor intact while anxiety grows in Hermione like a weed.

Okay. She needs a plan. Nothing can be done about what has already happened, but if she can come up with a way to fix it she’ll be fine again. Kakashi can get some time to walk it off, half an hour maybe, and then she’ll catch up with him and apologize. It will be fine. Just breath. 23 minutes she tells herself; when the clock hits a quarter past she can go make it right. She has until then to plan what to say and get herself under control. There will be no screaming on her part, and no crying. She can do this.

Hermione’s hands are sticky against the steering wheel as she starts the car. Her thoughts feel like a herd of pixies, wrecking general havoc inside her head. She drives slowly while she’s in town, forcing her mind to focus enough to not run red lights and make sure there are no pedestrians at the crossings. It’s not until she hits fifty kilometer an hour that she realizes she’s still in the second gear.

The regular houses have given away to farms when she catches up with Kakashi. Like ever, he’s got his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he’s on a relaxed stroll down the road. Hermione’s mouth dries up. According to plan she drives past him, stops at the side, turns on the hazard lights, and steps out. She walks back to meet him.

“I’m sorry.” The wind is in her back as Hermione stops, certain she’s close enough for Kakashi to hear. “Okay? I’m sorry. For yelling.” She’s not sorry for calling him out on his behavior after all. Kakashi hasn’t acknowledged Hermione’s presence in any way, and he’s almost at her side now. With her knee she won’t be able to keep up with him if he passes. “But please,” Hermione continues, “don’t do this to me.”

She feels like crying _and_ screaming, but she promised herself she’d do neither. Closing her fist, she burrows the nails into her palm and focus on the pain there instead of in her chest. Her other hand reaches out to catch Kakashi’s arm before he walks away. He stops and turns to her, raising his eyebrows in question, like she’s a stranger asking for directions.

“Don’t _do_ this to me,” Hermione repeats. “It’s not fair, I’ve been trying so hard to be your friend, you can’t just,” she shakes her head and bites her lip. She’s been working on not being herself, she thought she was making progress, and now here they are. “Just tell me what I did!” The words rip from her in a tone too close to desperation, but she cannot take them back. Will not. If anything, Kakashi owes her this.

“You did nothing,” Kakashi tells her. It feels as physical as a punch to the diaphragm.

 “Yeah?” Hermione has tears in her eyes and she can’t tell if they’re from anger or pain. She snatches her hand back from the contact with Kakashi. “Because if I haven’t done anything wrong, I guess I must _be_ wrong. And I’m so goddamn tired of feeling like that.”

Hermione keeps her back straight and her head high as she walks away.

.oOo.

Kakashi stands on the empty road with sun in his hair and ice in his veins. Hermione and the car are gone. He’d meant to create distance between them, but not like this. This aches deep inside him in a nauseating way.

His fingers move undirected to the arm where Hermione was holding him, only minutes earlier, brushing over the fabric of his jacket. Closing his eyes Kakashi tries to take a deep breath, but it gets stuck in his chest.

He starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, I know. Sorry! Like I said, the next chapter will be up shortly. In the meantime; let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Kakashi goes through the motions. He’s good at that. The doctor calls him Tuesday afternoon like agreed. “There are no anomalies in your tests,” she says, “so I would like to book you an appointment with our therapist for an evaluation. You are not an Icelandic citizen, however, and I don’t know what your insurance cover?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Kakashi says and hangs up. Then he runs until his legs no longer carries his weight. He feels nothing but the physical sensations of an overworked body.

Losing people is something Kakashi knows how to do. Hermione leaves a hole in him, but there’s enough of them already that it doesn’t matter much. What he can’t handle is the guilt that comes with some of the empty spaces. Hermione’s is in the shape of her out on that road, calling him a friend even as he let everything fall apart, begging him to tell her what she did wrong. She walks beside him the way Obito and Rin did, way back, with the difference that Hermione is alive. This doesn’t need to be permanent.

Out on that road Kakashi wanted to call her back, to fix what he had broken in her, but he had no idea how. He’s not sure he has the words now either, nor if he fully understands what happened. Yet a week has passed, and what he hasn’t grasped by now will likely remain shrouded. At least that’s what he tells himself as he knocks on Hermione’s door, the book she borrowed him in a firm grip.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione says when she opens. She holds onto the door with one hand and the doorpost with the other, effectively blocking the entrance to the house. “What do you want?” It would be easier if she was outright hostile, but she’s not. Kakashi wonders if his voice usually sounds as flat as hers does now.

“I have your book,” he tells her, and holds it out.

“And what?” Hermione asks, but she takes the book. “You figured since merely showing up was enough last time, it’d do the trick now?”

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says, and he means it, wishes he knew how to say it in the right way. Hurting her was never part of the plan, only to get distance.

“Yeah. You’ll have to do better than that.” Hermione watches Kakashi as he searches for what to say. He did think about this, knew what to tell her until a few seconds ago. It’s all gone now. “I thought so,” Hermione says and closes the door. Kakashi allows himself to sink down on the porch bench. This is not how he imagined this going.

Preparing for a mission or a battle; Kakashi knows how to do. He can assess the strength and weaknesses of his teammates and assign positions accordingly, plan attacks or ambushes, evaluate opponents, keep track of the terrain, and account for contingencies. He can do it simultaneously, and on the fly. It helps little now. This is also a problem that needs analyzing, but his usual strategies don’t apply, and he can’t predict what will happen.

Kakashi tries anyway. He maps out the things he’s supposed to say, strings them together and tries to account for the places where probability branches out in different scenarios. The paths aren’t as clear as they should be. The signs he tries to make to show the way turns out fuzzy.  He’ll get lost trying to follow this.

The front door opens eventually, Hermione stepping out on the wooden terrace with heavy boots. She freezes for a full second. “Still here?” The question is cautious, but she closes the door. “Why?”

Kakashi is leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees in a failing attempt to lessen the chill of the wind. Hermione, when she sits on the other end of the bench, is the complete opposite; back resting against the wooden panel behind them and legs stretched out. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I…” Kakashi hesitates, not sure what to say. _Be honest_ , Hermione told him that night two weeks ago, but it’s harder than it sounds. Honesty requires words. “I’m trying to figure out how fix it,” he manages, throat fighting against him.

“I bet you are.” By the sound Hermione is turned to Kakashi, but he doesn’t look to confirm. He doesn’t want to know what expression goes with a voice that neutral. “What did you think would happen? You would knock on my door, and I’d read what I wanted to hear into your silences, and everything would go back to normal?”

“I…” Kakashi’s jaw works around sounds that never comes out. She’s not wrong, and he knows she can tell. She’s not right either. He doesn’t care for normal, he wants out, but he needs her to be fine at the end of it.

“Yeah,” Hermione says, still horribly neutral, “I’ve realized I’m not doing that anymore.”

This is it then, Kakashi thinks. He’s known as much, are here to be able to tell himself he tried more than anything else, but it’s still surprisingly painful. “Why?” He manages, low and rough, but Hermione usually answers questions and he tries not to repeat mistakes.

“Because it’s hurting me,” she says. There’s feeling in her voice now, but Kakashi can’t tell which one. He’s good at hurting people. “Because after every one of those silences a piece of me is left wondering if they really meant what I ascribed them.”

_Because if I haven’t done anything wrong, I guess I must_ be _wrong_ , Hermione said out on that road. _And I’m so goddamn tired of feeling like that._ It echoes in Kakashi’s head now, crashes against what Hermione said seconds ago. His chest constricts until he feels like the world is fading away. And he’s doing it again, isn’t he? Instead of easing her pain he is adding to it, reopening wounds that should have begun to heal in his absence.

“Wait,” he says when Hermione makes a move to stand. “I just…” He forces a breath down, then another. Facing the reality of Obito being alive had felt like this, simultaneously paralyzing and frantic, but he’d managed to get it together enough to keep fighting then. He can do the same now.

“Five things you can see,” Hermione says. Kakashi has no idea when she ended up crouched in front of him.

“You’re not the problem,” Kakashi says. That’s what matters here; she needs to know that. “I’ll survive. I’ll be fine…” Kakashi forces his throat to swallow and sucks in another breath. Hermione wears a dirty set of working clothes and rubber boots, but he doesn’t let his eyes travel high enough to see her face. “You need to be okay,” he says. What he means is _someone_ ; someone who’s been tangled up with him needs to be okay.

“Thanks, I guess,” Hermione says, “we’ll get back to that. But Kakashi? Five things you can see.”

He can see Obito, if he closes his eyes, and Rin, her chest a gaping hole around his outstretched arm. That’s not what Hermione’s asking for. “Legs,” Kakashi answers, “feet, shoes, porch.” He wants to finish with _you_ but can’t say that out loud. “Arms,” he picks instead.

“Good, four things you can touch.”

When they get to three things Kakashi can hear (he omits his racing heartbeat, but: wind, his voice, cows) he realizes Hermione’s supposed to be working. “I know,” she says, “but we’re not done here, are we?”

They could be, Kakashi thinks, but he knows enough to not say it out loud. “What do you want me to do?” He asks instead, because he wants to make her all right but cannot think with this hand around his throat and this weight on his chest and so many dead and injured right behind his eyelids. Hermione sighs.

“I want you to answer the question that mattered.” She sounds tired. Kakashi risks a quick glance and catches wrinkles on her forehead and her lower lip pulled between her teeth. It doesn’t help him figure out what she means. “But like you said;” Hermione continues, “I’m supposed to be working. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Hermione rests her hand against Kakashi’s arm as she stands, much in the same way she did when she held him back a week ago. The ache of her turning around and walking away is equally familiar. But it gives him a clue, something to let his brain process while he forces his body into submission long enough to feed the sheep. Maybe he can still fix what he did to her.

.oOo.

Hermione wonders if she’s being unreasonable, but she doesn’t think she is. Asking her mother is tempting, even after withstanding it for a week, but she’s not up for an “I told you so.” There was a time when she’d call Ginny with things like this, and they’re still friends, but not like they were. Not since Hermione broke up with Ron.

She wants to forgive Kakashi, she really does, but she can’t. Not without getting _something_. There’s a pattern emerging here, she’s realized, and one that’ll end badly for her. Kakashi might be sick, and he might be horrible at dealing with emotions, but she can’t take responsibility for that. She can’t keep making his apologies for him and assign his silences some deeper meaning they might not have. For all she knows he might not even like her.

Kakashi left, she saw it through one of the grubby cowshed windows, so she doesn’t expect for him to once again be outside her door when she comes back from milking. She lets him inside without speaking, starts on hot cocoa for them both, and waits. The balls in his court.

 “If I’m not mistaken,” Kakashi says once they’re seated at the kitchen table, “you’re angry with me for not answering the question of what you did last time?” He speaks carefully, almost distantly, but it is a genuine question.

“Are we doing this?” Hermione asks instead of answering. Kakashi looks up from his cup and meets her eyes. “Like properly, full disclosure, both ways, doing it? Because otherwise I’m not sure there’s a point starting.”  Nothing might come out of this, but she owes him a chance if he’s willing to try. And if this turns out to be their end, they should at least clear the air first.

She hopes it’s not the end.

Kakashi takes a breath Hermione is certain he fights for. The dark brown of his eyes means she almost misses how his pupils widen, but his hand does not shake when he moves them down from the table. A tiny movement in his chin never translates to sound, but Kakashi closes his eyes and nods. It’s impossible not to wonder if she is cruel to put him through this, but it’s cruel either way. There are no wins in this scenario.

“To answer your question,” Hermione says, “it’s yes and no.” Kakashi has turned back to stare at his mug but there is confusion painted in the angles of his eyebrows. “The passive aggressiveness made me angry,” she explains, “but that’s not the problem now, I’m not _angry_ now.” In fact, she thinks, anger was only ever the outer layer.

“So, what are you now?” Kakashi has a version of that look he has sometimes, like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. She’s not sure how to feel about that, but she has decided to give them this last chance, full disclosure, and she’ll stick with it.

“Hurt,” Hermione starts, untangling the mess inside her. The cocoa is still too hot to drink, but she picks at the cup with the hand not wrapped across her abdomen. “Dejected, indignant, inadequate. Flawed.” She leaves out lonely, it has nothing to do with this, she’s been lonely since well before meeting Kakashi. “You?” She asks before Kakashi can say something. Or worse; nothing.

Several heavy moments pass by before Kakashi answers. “Terrified,” he says, and his tone has a hoarseness to it that makes Hermione wonder if his throat is as unresponsive as hers. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he continues after a pause.

“I know,” Hermione says, “I get it, I just…” she pulls a leg up on the chair and balances the mug on her knee. The smell of chocolate and spices sink into her, but the liquid burns her lips. “I thought I was strong enough, but I’m not, and I…” She stops herself and takes a breath, she’s not making sense. “Look, you’re sick, I get that. It’s unfair of me to hold you to regular standards, and I thought I was fine with that, but it turns out I’m not.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Hermione continues, “is that even if I _think_ you are silent or distant because you’re freaking out, I’ll keep _feeling_ it’s because you dislike me. And I’m not strong enough to stop it. And then you went and upped it with passive aggressiveness, which made me question everything I thought, and it got a thousand times worse. I know I’m obnoxious and difficult and whatever. I don’t need reminding.”

Sometimes, Hermione thinks, it’s worse not to cry. She feels like she might break in half, but not a single tear forms in her eyes as she waits for Kakashi to stand up and leave. They are all waiting in her tear ducts, however, and she knows there’ll be no stopping once he’s gone. “You don’t have to,” she starts.

“No,” Kakashi cuts in. “I obviously do. Just. Just give me a minute.” Despite everything, or maybe because of it, Hermione wants to go around the table to him. She doesn’t. Not yet. Watches him fold in on himself instead, hands behind his neck, and take slow measured breaths. At least fifty seconds remain of his minute.

Before the time is up Kakashi looks up at the empty air between them. “I don’t understand,” he says carefully, “what I did to make you see yourself like that to begin with?”

Hermione can feel her lips tugging upwards, but it’s not a smile, the sentiment is not there. “Yeah,” she huffs, “you didn’t really do anything. It’s been an established fact for quite some time.”

“By whom?” The question makes Hermione falter. She turns away, watches the whipping branches of the low hedge. The days are getting longer, leaving over an hour of daylight after the work is done.

“Everyone,” she admits before the silence leaves room for too many thoughts. “My parents, my friends, my ex, me.”

“I notice I’m not on that list,” Kakashi’s tone holds a hint of dryness. That must be a step up.

“Yet,” Hermione adds around the lump in her throat. She looks at the ceiling over the window to keep the burning in her eyes from spilling over. “I’ve been censoring, obviously.”

“Okay,” Kakashi says. There’s an edge to it that makes Hermione turn to him. His brows are drawn together over hard eyes and his fingertips press against the table. “So, I’m supposed to do _this_ while you’re allowed to censor?” It sounds unfair, Hermione can hear that, but…

“You don’t understand,” she swipes desperately at a tear escaping down her chin, “who I am make people _leave_.”

“Be aware,” Kakashi says, voice like ice, “you know very little of me or what I _understand_ , as you put it.” Hermione shivers. Her tears dry up. She believed the sensation of a room chilling with someone’s anger was a saying, but apparently, it’s not. Compared to this, she got away easy with the passive aggressiveness. Given a choice, she still prefers this.

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” She means it. With his easygoing attitude and nonchalant demeanor, he comes off as one of the cool kids, and she’s assumed a lot of things given that. Like a lot of shallow, stylish friends.

The revelation shocks Hermione out of her own mind for a moment, and she watches the pieces of Kakashi float freely: The fact that he’s freaked out the worst when she’s been hating herself, the times _she’s_ been the one to walk away. They fall into a new understanding.

 “It was unfair of me,” Hermione tells Kakashi. He closes his eyes and the cold feeling begins to dissipate. “I’m scared, though, that you’ll regret it and politely and wait for the day you won’t ever have to see me again.” That’s the worst part of it all, the nagging voice in the back of her mind whenever she spends time with someone these days, telling her they are either doing it to be nice or because she’s useful. Not because they enjoy it.

“Haven’t we had this conversation before?” Kakashi asks and puts his hands down in his knee, leaving Hermione nothing to read. She tries to remember if they have but comes up blank. “I told you that you think too highly of people,” Kakashi says in answer to her confusion, “and that you have no chance of restraining me.”

“I…” Hermione starts crying again. Without warning tears are running down her cheeks, tickling her where they cling to her lower jaw before falling. The tears blur Kakashi’s face and Hermione’s mind is buzzing. “Don’t freak out,” she says. It seems important. “I’m not sad, I just…” Only, she doesn’t know what she is.

She reaches for the paper towels and blows her nose. Crying is never very lady-like when she does it. “Will you tell me?” She asks, taking control of her vocal cords. “When I get too much and you want to leave, will you at least tell me what it was I did? I prefer knowing.”

The pause before Kakashi answers lasts forever. Hermione’s chest ties itself in new knots, replacing the ones just dissolved. “I’ll try,” he finally says. Nothing more can be demanded, really. It’s an honest answer, and Hermione wishing for more is unreasonable.

“Thank you,” Hermione says. Because there is nothing else she can say.

They sit in silence as the tears peter out and their salty residue begin to itch. The cocoa has gone tepid, the timing for drinking it missed, but Hermione downs it anyway. When her mug is empty she stands to rinse it out and splash cold water on her face. The hollowness that always hits her after crying sits heavy behind her sternum and she longs for her mother; the only one reliable to give her hugs these days. Instead she’s got Kakashi’s eyes burning against her back.

Hermione smells like cow, and her pants are getting downright crusty. There was laundry planned for tonight, but it will have to wait. “If I go change clothes,” Hermione asks, “will you still be here when I come back?” She is running dry on both physical and emotional energy, and the couch with a blanket sound like a dream. A break from this, if only for a few minutes, doesn’t sound horrible either.

Kakashi nods, and Hermione slips away to the bathroom.

.oOo.

With Hermione gone Kakashi places his elbows on the table, rests his forehead on his palms, and breaths. His body feels sluggish and achy, like he’s exhausted his chakra the way he did vanishing Deidara’s explosion with Kamui. Kakashi had been forced to let Gai carry him home after that. The man could still walk then, move on his own, come up with stupid challenges and stupider punishments for himself if he failed. He hadn’t been the statue Kakashi left in a hospital bed going here. This time, Kakashi will need to figure out a way to get to his feet on his own.

Shinobi doesn’t show emotion. Kakashi failed at that, let the anger bleed through, and righteous or not he should have kept it in check. Emotions impair the judgement and makes you vulnerable to attack, and it’s probably unhealthy to think of this as a fight, but how can he _not_?

The anger had felt amazing at the time, cleansing and invigorating, making him forget his tight chest and fuzzy mind. Now, it makes him weary and cold, twice as aware of his current state. Maybe it’s a jutsu that is slowly paralyzing him, making him fight to breathe and move and think. It could be slowing him down, little by little, and that’s why he can’t imagine standing up right now. The doctor found nothing wrong, but his body hasn’t worked right all day, so the doctor must have missed whatever this is. That speaks for a jutsu.

It’s not ideal; being left alone with his thoughts spinning like they are and his mind screaming at his exhausted body to get up and move. On the other hand, without Hermione here there are no questions to answer, no information to take in. No distractions, but no pressure either. There’s only one question left, the same one he came here to answer, and then he can leave. He’ll have given her what she needs, as far as he gets it, and he can go without guilt.

.oOo.

Kakashi is still in his chair when Hermione reenters the kitchen, fingers entwined in his hair and head bowed forward, effectively hiding his face. The kitchen is turning grey as the light wane and she turns on the lamp in the kitchen hood. Pinpricks of beginning rain are splattered over the window. Hermione is about to suggest moving to the couch when Kakashi speaks.

“The answer to the question,” he says, voice monotone, “is that you think I’m insane. The doctor told me.” Hermione blinks, trying to make sense of what’s being said. Kakashi turns his head to the side enough to look at her. “That’s why I left,” he continues, “not because of any of those other things, but because I won’t be around people thinking I’m unstable and making things up.”

“I… What?” Hermione tries to wrap her mind around what’s being said but it won’t be done. “What are you even talking about?” She remains standing by the counter, staring at Kakashi and wondering what alternate universe she’s just been transported to.

“You said; when I leave, you want to know why, and I told you I’d try, and I’m _trying_. Is it enough? Will you be okay if I go now?” He sounds tired mostly, nothing else. He’s not breaking down, he’s not angry, he’s not joking. Hermione tries to remember their conversation. She believed they were making progress, that it’d be okay, and now this. Their talk out on the porch springs to mind, she’d been distracted at the time, sure that Kakashi had a panic attack, but he said something about _him_ surviving, and it was important _Hermione_ was okay.

“No,” she says, before he can get up. “No, this is crazy. Why would you think that? I’ve never said you’re insane, or, or,” she ransacks her memory for what he told her, “unstable, or any of those things. If the doctor told you that, she lied.” Hermione can’t tell if the silence in her brain comes from thinking nothing at all or everything at once.

“So, I’m crazy for saying you think I’m insane?” Kakashi sits up, and there’s an undercurrent to his weariness now. Hermione can see how that might not have been the best thing for her to blurt out.

“No, that’s not,” she cuts herself off, sighs, tries to gather her thoughts, “just tell me, what did the doctor say? Exactly?”

“You think I’m mentally ill.”

“Yes,” Hermione says. They have established that a long time ago, haven’t they? And this doesn’t seem like the time to get into the illness or injury discussion. “What does that,” she freezes. For what must be several seconds, she stares blindly at Kakashi who is suspiciously blank. “Kakashi,” she speaks slowly, meticulously, “what would you say mental illness is?”

In the silence, a crease appears between Kakashi’s eyebrows, his jaw moves under his mask, but stills again. “Being out of your mind,” he says in the end, “not functioning, losing control…” He tapers off. Hermione realizes she’s pressing her eyelids together with enough force to make them quiver.

Okay. Shit. Keep calm. Breath in, through nose, out again. Open eyes. Don’t scream. He doesn’t know any better. “So,” Hermione says, “take me for example: I’ve done burn-out, PTSD and more than one depression. I’m anxious by nature. For a few days every month my world falls apart due to PMS. I’d say I’m well acquainted with mental health issues. Am I out of my mind? Insane? Should I be locked away?” She doesn’t leave Kakashi room to answer.

“Or worse: Am I making it all up? Wishing myself sick? Trying to get attention? Avoiding responsibility?” Hermione sucks in a breath. “Am I _just not strong enough_?” The words claw in her chest and scratch her throat coming out. She’s heard these things enough, asked them of herself too many times, for them not to hurt, even if she knows better than to listen.

“Make no mistake,” she finishes, “when I say I think you might suffer from mental illness; I am not judging you, I’m trying to help.”

Kakashi hasn’t left, and that must mean something, Hermione thinks in the silence after her outburst. She’s not sure what. “All my symptoms are physical,” Kakashi says with a blank face and unfocused eyes. Hermione sighs and scrubs her face.

“Are they?” She asks.

The yes forming in Kakashi’s mouth would be less obvious printed on his forehead, but so is his failing to vocalize it. “The depression test said I’m fine,” he says instead. She didn’t know the doctor gave him one of those, and refrains from getting into a harangue about what she think about some of them.

“Okay,” Hermione tells him instead, focusing on what’s important, “you are fine. But are you _happy_?”  She’s not sure Kakashi’s hearing her anymore, he looks shut down. “Do you ever sit up on the mountainside and marvel at the beauty of the landscape?” Hermione asks. “Do you look forward to things? Smile when no one’s watching? Laugh until you cry?”

“What if I’m not that kind of person.” It’s phrased like a question, but the tone isn’t right. Hermione’s stomach becomes a painful mass.

“What if you are? What if you’ve just been sick for long enough that this is your normal now?” Hermione asks. Talking about this is harrowing, bringing up ghosts of feelings Hermione wants to be done with. She knows too well how depression sneaks up on you, dulling life down so gradually it’s hard to notice. In a way, she’s asking herself the same things she’s asking Kakashi.

It might be confirmation bias, but the more Hermione thinks about it the more convinced she gets. She might not have known Kakashi for very long, has no baseline for him, but the signs are all there. It’s more a question of whether the depression is its own problem or if it’s caused by something else. There’s also the issue of Kakashi being a stubborn idiot with a medieval view of mental health. And the issue of Hermione possibly projecting and seeing things that’s not there. And the fact that she cares too much and needs to watch out so she doesn’t sacrifice herself. And okay, there’s _a lot_ of issues, but she’s too far out to cut the ties now. It’ll only make her obsess even worse. The isolation loneliness will come back as well, and she can do without that.

“I can’t do this,” Kakashi says. The words are fuzzy, and Hermione wonders if he’s speaking to her at all. “I need to go,” he continues, clearer. He sounds too calm, no signs of whatever’s going on leaking to the surface.

“Okay,” Hermione tells him as he stands. She’s already pushed more than enough for one day, and she’s not sure she dares to crack this empty veneer even if she could. “Will you come back?” It’s a terrifying question to ask, but she needs to know the answer.

There is none. Kakashi moves towards the hallway, Hermione giving him a few seconds head start to avoid crowding him. He is on the bench tying his shoes as Hermione joins him, but he freezes halfway through the second one. The patter of rain can be heard from outside.

“It’s too early,” he says, “they’ll be awake. I can’t… What do I tell them?” There are cracks in his voice at the end, but the quick glance he gives Hermione is nothing but exhausted.

“I don’t know,” Hermione says before she crosses the room. The seat is too small to hold them both, so she crouches in front of him for the second time that day. Kakashi’s arms are stiff under her hands as she places them by his elbows and from this angle she can see him looking between the points of contact. He makes no move to dislodge her.

“Maybe,” she thinks out loud, “you don’t have to say anything? There’s an unused master bedroom upstairs, huge bed, door to close, and I could drive you back later tonight or tomorrow before work?” Kakashi lifts his head to meet her eyes, but nothing can be read from it on her end. Hermione tries to wait him out, she really does, but she’s not the best with silences. “If you want to hang out, we could just watch a movie or something. You wouldn’t have to, but…” She can’t say out loud that she wouldn’t mind the company, doesn’t trust him _not_ to stay for her if she does. It’s been a long day, and Hermione knows the anxiety will hit like a sledgehammer once Kakashi leaves and she starts analyzing every word she spoke and all the ones she didn’t.

The small nod brings a smile to Hermione’s face. “Yeah?” she says, “okay. I’m starving so I’m having something to eat in front of a movie.”

Kakashi doesn’t speak much as he joins her, and he might be silent and empty-looking, but he is present. That’s something. Hermione falls into her usual pattern of random monologued small-talk, and nothing about it is normal but it’s okay. It’s more than okay. And if Hermione forgets to connect the laptop to the tv – effectively forcing them to sit right next to each other on the couch, watching Legally Blonde on the tiny computer screen – well, that’s a coincidence. It has nothing to do with the fact that she wants confirmation Kakashi is still around, despite all the things disclosed over the last hours.

There are still things they need to talk about, but if today isn’t the end there’s no hurry.

.oOo.

Kakashi thought staying would only be marginally less bad than facing Þorir and Sunna, but it turns out he’s wrong. It feels surprisingly comfortable, listening to Hermione’s endless chatter before sinking into the couch. He’s missed this; the easy moments with her.

His mind is still doing the thing where it feels completely empty while going a hundred miles per hour. Forcing a sandwich down is more a matter of will and necessity than anything else, every bite growing in his mouth and exhausting to chew. He leans back afterwards, the movie nothing but blurry shapes across the screen and a plot he lacks the energy to understand. Sleeping is out, which is unfair. How can he be unbelievably tired with his eyes open, only to be fully awake as soon as he closes them? He lets himself drift instead, knowing he has a lot he should process but unable to control his mind enough to do so.

The movie must end at some point because Hermione is asking him whether he wants her to drive him home now or take the bedroom here. Decisions sound impossible, however, and he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even.

She pads away over the floor, returning an unknown amount of time later. A heavy blanket is draped over Kakashi, tucked in over his shoulder, and something soft lands on the couch. “I’m leaving a pillow on your right side, and you can wake me if you need anything,” Hermione says softly. “Good night.” A hand lands on the blanket over his shoulder, trailing along the arm to the elbow before disappearing. Kakashi suppress a twitch. It’s strange, being touched for no reason. Neither good nor bad, just _odd_.

Hermione disappears again and doesn’t come back. Kakashi knows he won’t disturb her. He’ll rest here for a couple of hours, until he feels like he can walk, and then head back to Heimstaðir before Hermione wakes.


	13. Chapter 13

“Everything good with you and Kakashi?” Kristín asks Hermione as they sweep the cow-stalls. Hermione pauses, hanging on her broomstick. Kristín is terrible at feigning innocence and more curious than Hermione’s mother.

“Yes,” Hermione says, dragging the word out. A lot was sorted out yesterday, and she’s happy about that, but there’s new issues to darken the horizon. She’d thought she lost Kakashi; a reasonable and self-created loss, sure, but a loss none the less. Then she hadn’t. Then she lost him again. Now she’s in limbo, not sure of anything, but she can’t say that. “Why?” she asks instead.

“Oh, I just saw him outside your place yesterday after milking, and heard he got home late. Or should I say early?” The grin on Kristín’s face is downright wicked and she wiggles her eyebrows.

Blood rushes to Hermione’s face and she blinks at the implication. “Er,” she says, panicking, “is that a problem?” What she means is: _No, it wasn’t like that. At all_. But saying that will lead to incredibly complicated questions. Kristín laughs at her.

“No, no,” Kristín says, “not at all. I’m just glad you two worked out whatever spat had Kakashi _walking_ home from town last week.” 

Groaning, Hermione rests her forehead on her hands atop the broomstick. “How do you even know these things?” She says, unsure if she should laugh or run away and never look Kristín in the eyes again. It’s so much better to be the other part in these kinds of conversations.

“I talk to Sunna,” Kristín says, “and I might be 50 plus and married, but I’ve been twenty-something and single too you know. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Hermione has the dreadful insight that this conversation will most likely also be shared with Sunna. It might get back to Kakashi. She never confirmed anything though, it’s not her fault Kristín interprets it this way.

“Just make sure he treats you right,” Kristín continues on a warmer, more serious note, “and remember he’ll go back to the other side of the globe come fall.” Sometimes Kristín reminds Hermione of her mum.

“You don’t have to worry,” Hermione says, glancing up at Kristín. The years of outdoor work is visible in her face. “It’s not like that.” She means for it to be simple reassurance but realizes when hearing the words, it can be taken differently. If her cheeks aren’t beet red now they’ll never be. “That wasn’t what I…”

Kristín laughs and waves her off. “Of course it wasn’t,” she says, obviously not meaning a word. Hermione thinks she’ll only dig herself deeper down if she argues. “Now, I’m gonna let you get back to work before you perish.”

“Please do,” Hermione manages, but she’s laughing as well. This is incredibly awkward and will probably only get worse from here on, what else is there to do but laugh?

.oOo.

Kakashi wants to spend his Saturday like he did his Friday; curled up on his bed. Unfortunately, he can’t. Sunna and Þorir are home, and he can’t disappear behind a closed door all day, nor can he let them see him like that. He feels beat, literally, like he’s done taijutsu rounds against Gai and then gone out drinking all night. Only he doesn’t really drink much, and Gai won’t be doing anymore taijutsu.

Sitting in his armchair facing the window with a book in hand is okay, for a while. He keeps wondering, however, how long it’ll be before someone pops their head in and asks him to join them for something. Like lunch. Kakashi can’t manage lunch. It’s at least half an hour of hanging around the kitchen where he needs to be helpful, and social, and right-there-with-them, and he has no idea how to pull that off without something giving him away.

There’s Hermione. He keeps coming back to her, and to the questions she asked. Questions he couldn’t process then but can’t stop thinking about now. Yet, if he were to show up on her doorstep he’d have to explain himself. So, no.

Outside, the cloud coverage is breaking up, letting the sun reach down and bring color to the garden. It’s at least an excuse to get up, dress warmly, and head outside. He passes Þorir in the kitchen and tells him they can go ahead and eat without him if he’s not back in time.

Kakashi’s body is aching and cold as he walks the mountainside. The change in pace makes his stride shorter, and he struggles to find new ways over the waterlogged areas. He knows the tracks his feet are following, but can’t find the energy to care. Reaching the plateau where he first met Hermione takes time and most of his energy, but he’s out of sight from the house and is in no hurry to get back. The whole world looks to be covered by a giant camo net of small clouds moving quickly with the wind, their shadows creating a familiar pattern over the fields.

Sitting down, Kakashi looks at the valley with its eroded mountains and wonder what it’s like; marveling at its beauty. He remembers the snow, how its inhospitality made him feel alive, put a smile on his face with no one watching, and wonders if that stolen moment is proof Hermione is right or wrong. Maybe, he could be that kind of person. Maybe, he already is, only lesser.

Hermione joins him, of course. Kakashi is not surprised; she has a weird knack for knowing when he’s up here. Expected or not, it’s impossible to decide if he wants her company. On one hand, he is tired and achy and cold. On the other, the exact same things. All he wants is to be left alone, but if Kakashi was forced to choose one living, talking person to accompany him it would be Hermione.

“Hi,” she says, “mind if I join you?” Kakashi keeps his eyes on the landscape as he shrugs, and she settles on the grass next to him. “Are you angry with me?”

Shaking his head is not a proper answer, Kakashi knows, He’s supposed to talk to her. Hermione sighs. “Just tired,” he tells her. Glancing to his side he can see the twitch of her lips.

“Did you hear anything from the doctor?” Hermione asks.

“I…” Kakashi means to say he doesn’t want to speak about it, he’s allowed to, but he stops. No one at home will ever know. If he doesn’t face this now, he’ll probably always wonder. “She wants me to be evaluated by a therapist.” He has to force the words through his throat, but there’s something liberating about speaking them out loud. It’s been on his mind constantly the last few days.

“What did you say?” Judging by the sound, Hermione is looking at him. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the shifting yellow and grey of the dried grass below them, preferring not to know what Hermione thinks.

“I hung up,” he admits. To his surprise Hermione laughs, open and warm. It’s impossible not to smile with her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to,” she says, “I just, wow…” In the corner of his eye Kakashi catch the movement of her shaking her head.

“What?” He keeps his tone easy, not able to withstand the chance at lighter conversation. “I think it communicated my feelings perfectly.” The joke is at his expense, but it feels good none the less. It’s been too long since either of them laughed. Kakashi breaths it in, reminding himself that this is also them, there is more than the difficult stuff.

A shove on his shoulder is Hermione’s only answer and Kakashi turns properly to her and raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he says, “resorting to violence?” Her smile makes something loosen in his chest.

“I think it communicated my feelings perfectly,” Hermione says. Kakashi topples her over.

They sit next to each other in silence after Hermione yields the fight. The warmth in Kakashi is abating. “Is it okay to get back to the serious stuff for a moment?” Hermione asks after a while. Kakashi feels like the sunshine dims.

“I’m guessing saying no will only postpone the inevitable,” Kakashi says. He’ll be unable to focus on anything else now anyway.

“Do you know why these things I’ve been telling you about are called mental disorders?” Hermione asks, taking his non-answer as agreement.

The question is a simple yes or no, but Kakashi shrugs. Last time he shared his view on anything regarding this he upset her.

“It’s not about being sick in the head,” Hermione says, “it’s about the way it affects how you feel and think. Something has unbalanced your hormones – making you low on serotonin or increasing your cortisol levels – and it’s _manifesting_ with mental symptoms as well as physical ones.” Kakashi glances at Hermione and she meets his eyes evenly. He hears what she’s trying to say, but… “No one questions a diabetic’s right to be sick, do they?”

Kakashi turns back to face the valley. The clouds are grouping together into steel grey towers promising rain. There were no questions to answer, and he has nothing to say since he knows too little to argue. He reaches for his hitai-ate only to realize he’s not wearing it. “Well,” he says, lowering his hand, “I’m not stressed, and I’m not sad, so you can drop it.” Education is good and all, but if he never speaks about this again he’ll be grateful.

The huff is nearly lost to the wind. “Yeah,” Hermione says, “for me, depression wasn’t being sad. At the most I _wished_ I could cry. I was predominantly tired and horribly numb, not caring about anything and not concerned about that either. There was happy moment, in between, but they never stayed with me.”

Closing his eyes Kakashi takes a breath, two, three. He relaxes his hands from the fists they have formed. _Numbness_. Okay. While not a perfect match it is close enough. He can’t be mentally ill though. He doesn’t _want_ to be mentally ill. Shinobi doesn’t show weakness. ‘No one questions a diabetic’s right to be sick, do they?’ Hermione’s voice whispers in his head.

“You still with me?” A hand settles on Kakashi’s shoulder, the length of a forearm resting against his shoulder blade. He nods. “Good. Now, unless you object, I’m going to book you that appointment, okay?”

Kakashi means to object. He really does. Only, he opens his mouth and no sound comes out. No one will ever know, will they, and at this point he has very little to lose and not much fight left in him. There is no way he’ll consent officially, but Kakashi shrugs. Hermione squeezes his shoulder before taking her hand back. It leaves a cold feeling in its place.

“I read this crazy article,” Hermione starts, and tells him a long, humorously agitated report on something called flat-earthers. The straightforward subject gradually loosens Kakashi up and has him giving her more of his attention, until he’s finding himself part of a conversation again. It’s impossible not to wonder what Hermione, with her deep-seated trust in science and logic, would say if she saw him walk up a wall and across a ceiling. Or what would happen if he remodeled the very ground they’re sitting on.  

“I mean,” Hermione says, “how is that an argument; only believing what one can see? They think air is a big conspiracy too? Do they _not_ wash their hands before they’re visibly dirty?” Kakashi can’t help but smile at her consternation. He has a suspicion that was her intent the whole time. 

“I’m just not sure it really matters,” Kakashi can’t help but argue. Hermione stares at him.

“What?”

“Well,” Kakashi says, “the Earth is the Earth, no matter how you look at it. What does it matter if they think it’s flat?” Hermione goes blank for a full second. Kakashi would laugh at her if he dared, but he wants to hear her answer.

“I guess it doesn’t,” she says. He didn’t expect her to fold so easily. “In this case. It’s just that the same kind of filter bubbles and misinterpreted or false information also leads to stuff like kids not getting vaccinated or cementing racism.”

“I can see the problem with those,” Kakashi agrees. “Although, I have no clue what a filter bubble is.”

The cloud cover is thickening and the wind picking up as Hermione tells Kakashi about social media, and algorithms choosing what to show you, and fake news. She does it with gesturing hands and an urgent intensity, and Kakashi wonders what that kind of passion feels like.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Hermione says when the first raindrops begin to fall. “It’s lunch soon anyway.” Kakashi notice the reduced weight in his stomach only in how it is negated by her words. Staying outside in the rain will look strange. He’ll have to go back and spend time with the others.

.oOo.

Hermione picks her way back down the mountainside carefully. Her trust in her knee is still shaky, even with the pain gone and the brace to support it, and the rough ground is worse going down than up. Kakashi saunters beside her, hands in pockets, making the terrain look like an airport runway. It’s impossible not to envy his grace and entertain the thought of putting in the work to get that way herself. It’s a pleasant daydream.

The sleeping-together-thing needs to be brought up within the next few minutes. Kakashi is bound to find out eventually, if he hasn’t already, and Hermione’s Gryffindor side prefers getting the embarrassment out of the way. It’s still a daunting task. Kakashi might be repulsed by the idea of them together, or he might appreciate it, and Hermione doesn’t know which is worse. Either way, she’ll lose him, because she wants nothing more than friendship and won’t stand for being seen as repelling.

Kakashi is a bit weird, stiffer than a rod in a lot of ways, but Hermione likes him far more than she ever thought she would. Despite the rocky start they’ve had, he knows more about her by now than anyone she can think of. The number of topics redacted by the Statue of Secrecy makes that a bit peculiar, but magic was never what defined her. There are real things she’s learnt not to speak about – that even her mother will never know – that she’s told Kakashi. Ron had highjacked any conversations coming even close to the topic to the point where Hermione felt like the unreasonable one, but Kakashi didn’t do that. He questioned, and listened to the answers, and tried to do right by them, even as he planned to walk away for good.

Life isn’t easy, Hermione knows, and nothing will magically get better simply because they’ve spoken about it. The issues will be around, possibly as long as she is, but naming the beast always makes it less frightening. Actions can be taken once you know what you’re dealing with. And Kakashi had _tried_ today, just as she had. She frets now, about the improperness of her laughing or the lecturing she’d done, but the more she thinks about it the more confident she feels that Kakashi’s responses were genuine. At least this time.

“So, did you hear the new gossip?” Hermione asks before they get far enough that someone in the house might catch their expressions. The rain had remained being random drops carried by the wind. One of them hits the side of her face like a needle.

“I don’t care much for gossip.” The disinterest implies Hermione pulled of the casual tone she was aiming for. He also obviously doesn’t know yet.

“It’s about us.” Any tinge on Hermione’s cheeks can be attributed to the weather and the walking, she tells herself. She feels slightly nauseous. A glance shows Kakashi raising an eyebrow, but to keep moving Hermione needs to watch were she puts her feet. “They think we’re sleeping together.”

“And where would they get that idea?” Kakashi’s voice is frustratingly even, leaving nothing for Hermione to read. She steels herself, stops, and turns to him.

“Well,” she says, “apparently you’re not very sneaky when you come home in the middle of the night.” Kakashi freezes.

“No way did a sleeping civilian catch me.” Kakashi looks up at her under raised eyebrows, head bent forward. He sounds offended. Hermione feels a thousand pounds lighter as she grins at him and nods.

“Yes way, they did,” she confirms. “That’s the part you get hung up on?” The question comes off as more serious than she intended, the laughter in her voice fading as she speaks.

Kakashi shrugs. “I never cared much what people say about me.” He doesn’t comment on the blow to his occupational pride and Hermione lets it slide.

“We good then?” She asks instead. “Nothing’s changed?” The question puts a knot on her windpipe, but she needs the confirmation.

“Why would it?” Kakashi answers and Hermione can breathe again. “How did you even find out?” The dark eyes narrow.

“Er… Well, Kristín cornered me yesterday afternoon.” Hermione looks away, she can feel the blush thickening. “And I didn’t confirm it, obviously, but I couldn’t come up with a way to _deny_ it either. Not without telling her stuff I’d rather not, so, um…” She glances back at Kakashi and the slant of his eyes is probably a smile. “It was a horrifying conversation,” She makes a face by pulling her lips up and scrunching her nose.

“I can’t imagine,” Kakashi says dryly.

Hermione laughs. “You really can’t,” she says.

“There’s one possible upside with it though,” Hermione says as they continue their trek. “It gives you a great alibi if you ever feel like that again.” She’s been thinking about Kakashi’s reaction as he was leaving, remembering her own crippling tiredness and how downright exhausting it could be when she needed to put on a mask and be _normal Hermione_.

“Okay,” Kakashi confirms evasively.

Hermione stops. Reaches for him before she can think better of it. With a hand on his arm she turns Kakashi towards her. “I mean it,” she says, making sure to meet his eyes. “My door is always open.”

“Okay,” Kakashi says again. His tone is the equivalent of a sigh or a shrug, but it’s better. Not an obvious dismissal. Hermione gives him a small smile and a single nod.

They continue down the grassy slopes and breaks up for lunch when they reach the driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve thought a lot of where I want to take this and what should happen from here on, but I’m not really sure right now. Please share your thoughts and ideas if you have any, it is always great to hear from you!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god! I’m completely blown away by your response after last time. I mean to answer every single one of you, but I got so much inspiration I got stuck working instead. You have so many great ideas and thoughts, and I’ve now got an outline for a bunch of chapters and some kind of direction. Please keep sending these things my way, I don’t know what I’d do without you!

Hermione hangs up the phone. She should be happy. Instead, she swallows around a lump in her throat. _She should be happy_. Only, she’s not. Shit. What is wrong with her? By Merlin, she hopes Ginny didn’t notice, but she doesn’t believe so. People don’t usually notice. Deep breath. Look up to make the tears stay in the eyes. Deep breath again. Don’t break down. Kakashi’s waiting for her in the living room, out of sight but perfectly able to hear her. He’s been hanging out at her place a lot in the last week.

The app confirms what she already guesses: PMS. It’s not that the feeling is unfounded – Harry should have been the one to call – but she’d usually be able to keep it inside; compartmentalize and go back to knitting in the couch and Kakashi reading in the armchair she sees as his. Possibly nag him into playing cards with her, or forcing him to learn how to crochet, or something else that would distract her until she’s calmed down.

It’s unfair, her sitting here strangling herself to push down sobs when _they_ are the ones who are idiots. Flinging the phone across the kitchen seems like a great idea, but unfortunately Hermione can’t turn off her logical side enough to react with that much impulsiveness. She places it carefully on the table instead. Gives up on keeping the tears from falling and places her forehead on her folded arms. Tears hitting the wooden tabletop will not make sounds enough to matter.

.oOo.

Something in Kakashi broke, out on that mountainside after they made up. It could be his will to fight with her, or his will to keep fighting for himself, but either way he’s stopped caring. More time is spent at Hermione’s now, because it keeps him away from his hosts and allows him to stare emptily at the walls for as long as he likes. Hermione deals with amazing ease, letting her life play out around him when they’re not doing things together, and maybe she really _does_ know what this feels like.

People thinks they’re sleeping together, but Kakashi never cared about those kinds of rumors. He knows too well the destructive forces of people talking, has been the center of attention himself more than once, but this is not that. No. As long as this gossip doesn’t bother Hermione, Kakashi has no problem with it. It’s not like it’s getting in the way of him finding someone, that kind of thing isn’t for him. Reading about it is good and all, but he’ll never be like the characters in his books.

Kakashi didn’t listen to what Hermione was saying on the phone, but he can’t help but hear the silence afterwards. With time, it gets heavy; too compact compared to the ones that rest lightly between the clacks of knitting needles or the rustle of pages being turned. The quality of the air is clogging up Kakashi’s lungs, and he’s not scared, exactly, but apprehensive. Also, it’s Hermione, and a not insignificant part of the uneasiness can be attributed to Kakashi not wanting her to be anything but alright. In the past, he’s failed every single occasion like this, but that can’t mean he stops trying to get them right. He will be Hokage, and the Hokage can’t run from anything.

Pausing in the doorway Kakashi watches her, wild hair strewn over the table and unvoiced sobs traveling up her spine. Panic holds him frozen for a moment, but he breaths slowly and pushes it away. He can’t run. She will not forgive him. If he could face fighting Obito, he can face this. ‘Be honest,’ she’s told him several time over the last days, ‘it doesn’t have to be perfect, just honest.’ Honestly, Kakashi thinks these things should be done in private. Tears are not to be shown. He has a feeling Hermione disagrees.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, and the question nearly brings Hermione right off the chair.

“Jesus Christ, Kakashi,” she says, and the face she turns to him is blotched, the arms of her sweater visibly damp. “I should put a bell on you or something.”

Kakashi shrugs. “I told you no sleeping civilian should have heard me get home.” It’s not the right thing to say, merely a kneejerk reaction to a chance at a conversation he can handle. He needs to do better. Like she would do it.

“Yeah, well, doors.” Hermione swipes at her face. “I’m sorry, I…” Kakashi can’t help but raise an eyebrow at her, knowing where that start tends to lead. The pressure of answering her self-accusing tirades is something he can live without, for the rest of his life preferably. “…shouldn’t be apologizing, should I? That only makes this worse for you.” Hermione says. “I’m just PMSing, and Ginny had to call, and…” She’s crying again, not a lot but openly, and Kakashi has the feeling this is _not_ the time to ask what PMS means. “If you want to go, that’s okay, I understand.”

“What do you want?” Kakashi asks, because her phrasing tells him it might be something else. He wants to go, desperately, but that’s proved to be a bad decision in the past. He fought too hard to be here to mess this up now. Hermione meets his eyes and Kakashi holds the gaze, ignoring the clawing feeling in his chest. He has faced down worse. At least this time, her tears don’t seem to be caused by him.

“I want you to stay.” The voice is rough, and Hermione clears her throat. “But I told you, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” She looks away, tears trailing down he cheeks and her breathing ragged.

The decision is easier then Kakashi anticipated; he’s sacrificed a lot more for people meaning far less. Shinobi who abandons their friends are worse than scum, after all. Strange as it is, this unpredictable emotional civilian, halfway around the earth, who’s making him go see a _therapist_ tomorrow, and who knows almost nothing about him, is turning out more important to Kakashi than many shinobi he’s fought side by side with. He wonders what that says about him.

With his heartbeat thrumming against his ribcage Kakashi goes to the table and sits down.

.oOo.

“You don’t have to,” Hermione starts before Kakashi cuts her off.

“Why is it,” he says, “that you can do things for me, but not the other way around?”  He studies Hermione as she searches for an answer. There are no words for it; the way Ron sacrificed things she never asked for, and the conditioning to guilt and shame that created.

“I’m just being ridiculous,” Hermione says instead. “I shouldn’t even be _sad_. Ginny had great news. They’re getting married in the fall, and they want me to come, only they couldn’t send me the invitation since they didn’t have the address.”

“But?” Kakashi says, folding to the topic-change. It’s impossible to read him, but she’s seen enough of his reactions to these kinds of conversations to guess what’s behind the façade.

“But, it should have been _Harry_.” Hermione realizes he knows too little to make sense of the statement, she’s mentioned her friends from time to time, but never tied the story together. “It was Harry and Ron and I all through school, he was like my brother. Only he took Ron’s side, later, or from the start maybe, I don’t know, and…” She takes a gulping breath of air. Kakashi is blank. “I’m not making much sense, am I?” Hermione asks.

“No,” Kakashi says. He has stillness surrounding him in the way he gets when he’s out of his depth. “But I’m not sure I’d have anything to add even if you explained.”

Hermione should cut him loose, not have him sit through this when she is able to spare him. But she wants him to know, has never explained any of it to anyone, and even if Kakashi won’t be able to tell her if she’s the crazy one in all of this she can at least listen to her own words as she speaks them. Writing and speaking is two different things after all.

“Could I tell you anyway? If you don’t have to say anything? I’ve never heard it told.” Kakashi doesn’t blink as he nods.

Collecting herself, Hermione tells not the full story, because the Statue of Secrecy still applies and most of the more action-packed events have to be censored out, but most of the things that matter. She tells him how they treated her in the very beginning, and Ron’s words that fateful charm’s lesson, and how isolated and lonely she’d been up until they became friends. She tells him about school, and a lot – but not everything – of what came after.

Kissing Ron was a mistake, a heat-of-the-moment, we-might-be-dead-tomorrow thing that couldn’t be ignored. They worked as friends, would have continued working, but as a couple? The worst part is that Hermione asked herself, from the very beginning, if she was making a mistake. And she told herself she wasn’t. Ron had changed, she told herself, he’d grown up, and he’d continue maturing. Only, now, she’s not so sure he had.

It had felt amazing, at first. They had shared everything, helped each other heal and gotten as close as two people ever could, and that had filled her world and made her blind to the warning signs. Like Ron taking offence when she told him things, or telling her she was bossy, and a know-it-all, and he knew-what-he-was-doing-thank-you-very-much. Only she was still the one who was supposed to keep track of everything, and it is very hard to not be domineering when otherwise nothing gets done. It’s also very hard to discuss that when one part gets affronted and accuses the other of being impossible.

People had suggested that she ‘loosen up a bit,’ or ‘try not to control everything,’ and maybe ‘she’d be happier.’ It was especially hypocritical hearing it from Harry and Ron, neither of whom would have had _pants_ for their year on the run if she hadn’t packed for them. Or a tent. Or anything really. It was also funny – even if she can’t tell Kakashi that part – how, after Harry killed Voldemort, Ron was the one depicted by media as the loyal sidekick and Hermione as the book-worm/love-interest they dragged along. Not that she ever wanted fame or publicity, but it’s hard not to wonder how the story would have gone without her in it, and how it would be told if she’d been a he.

Hermione had woken up one day, over half a decade later, and realized she didn’t dare buy new cushions for their couch. Because Ron couldn’t see the need, and if she just went out and did it she’d be making decisions without him again. She’d known then that not only couldn’t she start a family without a solid partner to depend on, she was also losing her own agency. In their relationship she learnt that the independent, stubborn, self-confident person she used to be was unwanted, and she solved it by self-eradication. Maybe she would leave for a life alone, because she is a bossy know-it-all who pushes her opinions on people, but it didn’t matter. Hermione was done treading carefully around someone else’s emotions.

“I just can’t change,” she says in the end, her voice thickening and tears resurfacing in her eyes. She got through the whole story without crying. “I’ve _tried_ , I really did, but I can’t make my mind stop. It plans, and questions, and analyzes, and sometimes those things reach my mouth before I know it. And I realize that makes me an insufferable know-it-all and I sometimes unwillingly cut people down, but I thought my friends knew I always mean to help, it just comes out wrong sometimes. But Ron apparently never got that, and now Harry isn’t the one calling so I’m guessing he’s didn’t either, and even my _mom_ tells me I can be a handful, and…”

Once she starts sobbing there’s no stopping. There are snot and tears pooling against her lips and hanging from her chin; grabbing a paper to wipe the worst of it off and blow her nose only helps for a short while. Hermione hugs herself, while Kakashi silently watches, and this might be the most vulnerable she’s ever felt. It doesn’t matter what she told him, she wishes he would say something, but knows she can’t ask for it. He is here, that has to be enough.

When he does speak, it’s not what Hermione wants to hear. “Don’t cry,” he says, and Hermione is unsure if it’s more for her sake or his own.

“Why not? It’s not like not crying makes it hurt any less.” She can hear the reproach in her own voice.

Kakashi cocks his head as she meets his eyes. He’s not hyperventilating, at least, but she can see his mind working. “While that might be right,” he says, forming the sounds with great care, “I just think they’re not worth it. They are wrong, and they are the ones who should be sorry.” Warmth and terror blooms simultaneously in Hermione’s chest. She hears him, but she knows how it goes.

Her hand reaches for another paper towel and she blows her nose again. The long speech and loss of fluids is making her desperately thirsty and she should get up, throw the trash away and get a glass of water. She does neither, wads the paper to a ball and drops it on the table. Not even the Gryffindor in her dares come up with an answer to Kakashi’s comment.

The hurt doesn’t come out with the sobs, neither does the tears wash it away. Crying masks it for a while, with the sting on her eyelids and cheeks, the painful tightness of her throat, and the humiliation of having someone see her make all the stupid sob-faces that no one ever does on film. But none of it takes the actual hurt away. The cutting edge of it dulls down after a while, leaving nothing but empty space where her feelings usually are, and Hermione worn out. This is what’s at the core then. The realization that she’ll never be more than this. It’s no wonder no one can stand her. She’s a nightmare, honestly. And she can’t change. She breaths in it for a while, lets it settle down. New layers will form around it, she’ll feel again, good and bad, until she ends up back here. Nothing here is new.

Except Kakashi.

“Thank you.” Hermione’s dry throat protests and the words barely carry. She clears it and tries again, speaking into the void of closed eyes and trusting Kakashi to hear her. He hums in response, the sound of it thoughtful.

Hermione gives herself a few more seconds before she rises. Reminded of the last time she sat here crying her eyes out, she crosses to the sink and rinse her face, drinks water straight from the tap, then turns around to lean against the counter. She wants the hollowness to go away. And a hug. She really wants a hug. Kakashi stays seated, his focus out the window hiding his face. The world has almost completely faded into darkness, only black silhouettes remaining of the mountains.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks when she can no longer stand the silence.

He turns to her, and his eyes aren’t as empty as she feared. They’re not completely present either. She wonders what he’s thinking about.

“Yes,” Kakashi says. “Are you?”

A shrug is the only answer Hermione can give him. She’s tired, and her tears have run dry. If they hadn’t, she might cry again. Because he seems to care, and she’s not sure she can handle kindness right now.

“Do you do hugs?” The question hangs between them for a several second. Hermione meant for it to sound casual, but it came out jagged and sticky.

“I,” Kakashi rubs his neck, “don’t really know.” He pronounces each word separately, as if he forces them out. Hermione reels. She’s met people like her, who hugs easily and freely, desperately at times. She’s met a few people who can’t be touched at all when they are upset, and some who never wants to be touched. She’s never met someone who doesn’t _know_.

“I could sort of use one,” she admits, quiet enough that the words only carry because of the absolute silence of the kitchen. Kakashi’s eyes snap to hers, then move away as quickly. “I understand if you don’t want to. No hard feelings, I probably smell of cows anyway.” It’s an offer of an easy way out, presented with a smile to take the edge off the conversation.

Kakashi doesn’t answer for the longest time. Never answers, if one is particulate. He stands, steps away from the table, and stops. Shoves his hands in his pockets. Turns his head away. It puts a black hole in Hermione’s already empty abdomen. One step is enough to bring her into Kakashi’s personal space and she pauses there, heart beating wildly in her chest. It feels like walking up to a hippogriff, bowing and hoping to keep your head.

“I’m taking this as a yes,” Hermione says. She should have refrained from asking this of him, it can go wrong in several ways. What if Kakashi will want more than hugs? Things she cannot give him, even if she wanted to, which she doesn’t. But Hermione feels like she’s starving, and what she wishes for is too close now to turn down.

No protest is voiced, and no movements made, and Hermione decides she might never get a clearer affirmative. Kakashi doesn’t turn to her as Hermione slowly reaches out, but when she snakes her arms in around his body he takes his hands from his pockets and awkwardly returns the gesture. Closing the distance between them Hermione can feel Kakashi’s tightly regulated breaths in her own lungs and his pulse beating as fast as her own. He stands rigid against her, arms lifted around her back rather than resting against it. Like he knows the theory but lacks practice, a voice in the back of Hermione’s mind provides.

 “Okay?” She asks him, voice muffled by the shoulder she rests her head against. Kakashi’s sweater smells like dust and someone else’s home.

Hermione feels the minute nod through her hair and shoulder, and allows herself to relax against him. Despite the awkwardness she can feel the oxytocin kicking in and her mind steadies. No one’s hugged her since her parents dropped her off at the airport. It doesn’t take away the pain, but it’s bubble wrap around what’s fragile and vulnerable, making her feel a little less likely to break. She wishes to stay like this for an eternity.

.oOo.

Hugging is strange, Kakashi thinks, and nothing like in the books. There’s much less ‘ample bosom pressing against his chest,’ and much more Hermione; her curly hair tickling his ear and cheekbone, and her body lining up with his from his shoulder to his knees. She relaxes against him, her pulse noticeably slowing against his ribcage, and Kakashi closes his eyes. He likes this version better than the literary one. His mind is still whirring with thoughts about what he should have said or done, and it doesn’t stop, but it slows down. In its wake comes the tiredness he’s learnt to expect, slackening his muscles and leaving him lightheaded and unbalanced. He could fall asleep here, if he wasn’t focused on staying upright.

There is probably an appropriate amount of time for a hug, especially one between friends, but Kakashi doesn’t know it. Besides, he’s doing this for Hermione, and he will give her as long as she needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if I’m bashing on Ron here, but I really can’t see how they worked out as a couple. This is sort of how I imagine it going, because honestly, he’s reading Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, and a year later they’re together? To me it doesn’t seem like he’s matured much at all, and he always had an inferiority-complex that clashes with Hermione’s book-smarts, drive, perfectionism, and will to advice others. I don’t know, maybe I’m overly pessimistic, but this is my story, and this is how it goes.  
>   
> Let me know what you think.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some time to get this chapter up, because I was visiting family for Easter and couldn’t write. I’m back in business now, but next week I go from 2 to 4 hours of work every day (I’m on my way back to work after a burnout), so I might be completely wiped out for a while. More is coming, but it might be an extra week or so depending on how the increase in working hours go.

It takes two days for Kakashi to tell Hermione anything about the visit to the therapist. She had asked, of course, when they met up afterwards, and Kakashi can’t remember what he said, only that he didn’t answer.

Psych eval at T&I was miles better than sitting across Jón the therapist in a bland room where white curtains with grey circles were all the fun anyone was allowed to have. At least with T&I Kakashi can sometimes guess which answers were the right ones to remain on duty. He has no clue what’s right in a situation where he’s supposed to cooperate to evaluate his mental health. Be honest, Hermione had said as she dropped him off. But honesty is complicated when so much is redacted, and Kakashi often doesn’t know the honest answers to begin with. It didn’t help that he catched how Jón’s eyes widened when he looked at the first page of Kakashi’s PTSD form, and Kakashi realized normal people probably shouldn’t have that many boxes ticked. Luckily, citing he’d been a special ops soldier got him out sharing any details about the events. Jón didn’t need to know a lot of it happened before and after ANBU, and as such aren’t technically classified if Kakashi takes away the parts with chakra control and jutsus.

Kakashi didn’t reach the score needed to be diagnosed with PTSD, but having seen the questions he knows he would have, years ago. Instead, Jón confirmed what Hermione already told him; depression, and signs of heightened stress levels. It wasn’t even a surprise at that point, and Kakashi still has no idea how to feel about that.

For two days, the visit spins round and round in Kakashi’s head, before he’s sitting at Hermione’s staring out the window, and she asks him what he’s thinking about. And he tells her. That the therapist thinks he should come back, that he wants Kakashi to consider anti-depressants, and that he doesn’t need to be _drugged_. Hermione gives him a small smile that puts lead in Kakashi’s stomach and a rubber band around his throat.

Hermione only needs ten minutes to convince him it’s worth trying. Seeing how she’s been right about everything so far, it would be illogical of Kakashi to question her now. A part of Kakashi wonders if this is why he brought it up to begin with, to have her make the decision for him, because there is no fight and no choices left in him. As Hokage he’ll need plenty of both.

“It’s not actually happy pills, you know,” she tells him. “They won’t magically make everything alright. You still have to do that, and it’ll take a lot of work and hours of therapy. Medication just puts you in a place where the bad days aren’t necessarily as bad, and happiness is a possibility.” 

Committing to therapy is one of the hardest things Kakashi has ever done. He hates everything about it. Even so, he goes back for his second time, he takes the pills, and he tells himself that he made the choice to protect Konoha a long time ago, and that this is not the time to back down. Especially since the danger is _him_ , and the way he’ll kill them all if he can’t get his head back on straight. Jón at least accepts the fact that Kakashi won’t talk about his past, and agrees to stick to the here and now, and coping techniques. It’s a small mercy, but a significant one.

Kakashi has been told repeatedly that the medication takes some time to kick in. That it might get worse before it gets better. That the dosage he takes for the first six days is too low to give him anything but side-effects. He could still live without the added exhaustion, the headaches and the disconnected feeling.

Five days in, it has stabilized back to regular tiredness and he goes with Hermione to the pool. The warm water welcomes him back as it wraps around his body, easing the tension in his shoulders. Not long ago he might have thought of it as an embrace, but he can’t do that now, not with the memory of Hermione’s arms around him fresh in his mind even two weeks later. Kakashi didn’t use to be someone who approved of touching. Now, he can’t stop thinking about the rhythm of Hermione being alive against him and his thoughts slowing down. It doesn’t help that she reaches for him more often since their hug. Only small touches; a hand on his arm, a nudge from her shoulder, and Kakashi can’t make himself mind.

“You were fast today.” Kakashi opens his eyes and watches Hermione step into the pool. Seeing her in nothing but a bikini is still awkward the fourth time around. Men and women shouldn’t be sharing baths, or hugs. Not unless they mean for it to be something more. Kakashi definitely, doubtlessly, absolutely wants nothing more, and he hopes he is not leading Hermione on. He knows people have fallen for him in the past, but he never figured out how to stop it. (Except for with a Chidori through the chest, a traitorous part of his mind whispers, but he’s not going there. He’s not.)

“The changing room was empty,” Kakashi says, forcing his focus back to the conversation.  

“What does that,” Hermione cuts herself off. “Ah,” she says and looks out over the empty pool area. The sun lights up the top of the mountains behind her, days the getting noticeably longer. In two months, it will be midsummer, and the sun will set only behind mountains leaving the nights no more than a transition from dusk to dawn. Or so Kakashi’s heard.

“Does anyone ever ask about it?” Hermione finally says, turning back to him. The water does little to hide how she fiddles with her fingernails. “The mask, I mean,” she clarifies when he fails to answer right away. As if he didn’t know what she meant.

“Not really,” Kakashi answers. There is no harm in that alone.

“Can I?”

Hermione’s gaze burns against the side of Kakashi’s face as he turns away. Lazy steam rises from the pools in the cooling air. He has no idea how to respond.

Kakashi doesn’t believe in sharing. He’s raised to keep things inside, to filter his words carefully, and to bury any vulnerability deep. Because shinobi don’t show emotion, and they don’t show tears. Shinobi builds their lives around their reputations, after all, and their strength mustn’t be questioned. As he sits in the silence now Kakashi muses about how differently Hermione handles things. How she plods straight through her demons instead of avoiding them, and how that might remove their power more effectively. Or not. It’s impossible to know. 

On the other hand, what does he have to lose by trying? This answer is old by now, and hold little power over him either way. It could be a way to repay some of the trust Hermione has given him.

“My only memories of my mother are her in a hospital room, and the importance she didn’t get sick,” Kakashi tells the air in front of him. His voice cooperates better than he thought it would. “We had to wear these masks when we visited, to protect her, and I guess I must have thought she’d be safer if I covered my face up the same way whenever I left the house. That way I wouldn’t get sick and pass it on to her.”

For a second Kakashi hesitates, unsure if he should go on. Hermione stays silent. “She died anyway, but the mask stayed on. I guess I might have grown out of it, but…”

A shrug finds its way to Kakashi’s shoulders. A quick glance shows Hermione studying him, head cocked to the side and a small frown straining the muscles around her eyes. He has never told anyone what happened to either of his parents, even if many have known. Above the board fence protecting them from the wind the mountaintops slowly lose the last of their golden crowns. Somewhere inside Kakashi pieces click into place, like he understands himself better simply from having to explain things.

To continue is not a conscious choice, but silence is an established way to keep people talking, and Hermione obviously knows how to use it.

“Not long after I started school my dad, who was a soldier, ordered his team to walk away from a mission to save them. They hated him for it, the whole village did. The mission is supposed to come first.” Kakashi lets the words fade. His insides contrast sharply with the warmth of his skin, and he thinks about getting out of the water. The shunning of his father has followed Kakashi his whole life, a harsh reminder how brittle respect is and how far you fall when it turns to contempt. He hadn’t planned to tell Hermione about it.

“What happened?” Hermione asks, but it’s more of a nudge than an actual inquiry.

The problem is Kakashi brought up this subject to begin with, meaning he will have to see it through. He should have kept his mouth shut from the start and changed the topic. Now, sharing half the story will be worse than finishing it, because Hermione will fill the gaps with her own truths. Kakashi allows his toes to press against tiles in the pool and his legs to tense up, knowing it won’t be visible under the water. His teeth bite down on his tongue hard enough to leave the taste of blood in his mouth as he speaks.

“He couldn’t take it. He killed himself.” Even if Kakashi has forgiven his father, talking about his death is like prodding at a deep bruise. “I found him on our living room floor.” Compared to what came after, the deaths of his parents aren’t very bad; he is not the sole blame for what happened to _them_. Speaking about it shouldn’t have to be hurt. But it does.

“That’s… I don’t know what to say.” Hermione’s voice is low and soft, and Kakashi can’t stand the thought of looking at her and finding pity, so he doesn’t. “I’m sorry. About your parents. Which sounds distant and cliché, but I mean it. I’m also slightly pissed off, to be honest, at the people doing that to your dad.”

“I was one of them,” Kakashi feels compelled to tell her. He is neither a saint nor an innocent victim and doesn’t want to be seen as either.

Hermione is a civilian, with a strong moral code and the belief there’s a clear line between right and wrong. In reality, Kakashi knows, it’s all shades of grey and a matter of perspective. Glancing over to see a frown on Hermione’s face he realizes he’ll have to give her more, or she might never look at him the same again. “You need to understand,” he explains, “that in the last thirty years my country has fought two wars, more than one terrorist organisation, and there’s been several major attacks on my village. The rules are there for a reason. One mission being abandoned might cause the deaths of hundreds.”

“I get that, trust me, I do. I know sometimes sacrifices have to be made. But if you can’t even try to save your friends, what will you have left to fight for? To _live_ for?” There’s fire in Hermione’s voice and ash in Kakashi’s mouth.

An invisible hand grasps Kakashi’s throat. He can’t do this. Needs to get out of here. It started as a straightforward question about his mask, how did it become a conversation about letting friends die? “I’m going to shower,” he manages. It’s too little, too easy for her to misinterpret, but he can’t give her more. He takes control of his body and steps out of the pool, dimly registering the cold concrete against his bare feet as he walks away.

In the empty locker room Kakashi sinks down on a bench and waits his lungs regain their function and his sense of balance to steady. Once sure he can remain upright he washes off slowly, trying to let the water rinse away the traces of the conversation. Speaking about things is clearly not worth it. Not with that tone in Hermione’s voice and this ache in his chest now. Kakashi can’t see why Hermione willingly puts herself through something so painful. It must be different for her.

She waits for him by the car, roles reversed from their first time here. Kakashi stops well out of reach, but she gravitates towards him. “I’m sorry,” she says, eyes wide, “I didn’t mean to, I got carried away, and I completely disregarded the cultural differences, and I shouldn’t have implied… It was wrong of me.” 

They told him it might get worse before it got better, but Kakashi isn’t prepared for this. He wants the numbness back. He wants to be able to breath properly. “No,” he says none the less. It’s important she doesn’t suffer on his behalf. “You’re right, I learnt that the hard way later.”

He keeps the ‘too late’ for himself.

“Oh,” Hermione says. With his head turned away Kakashi still catches her arm moving and can remain motionless as her fingertips land on his elbow. It’s not a grip strong enough to move his limb alone, but he allows himself to go with it and steps up to her. The arms that wrap around him is stronger than he remembers them, and in the contact with her Kakashi feels he trembles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asks.

There’s nothing to do but laugh, and Kakashi suddenly understands Hermione’s reaction in her hallway all those weeks ago. It sounds broken, even in his own ears, but everything about this is broken. He laughs at the ridiculousness of Hermione’s question, and at his own pathetic weakness, and at the fact that he shouldn’t be laughing to being with. He laughs because he doesn’t know how to cry. “It was a long time ago,” he says when he gets his voice back, the words scratching his windpipe. “I’m fine.”

Hermione huffs against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she says, “I sort of don’t believe you. But that’s okay. We don’t have to speak about it.”

The laughter left Kakashi feeling even more ragged and aching. Autonomic functions seem to have stopped working, but Hermione breathes against him, giving him something to anchor his own rhythm against. For a while it’s all he thinks about, filling and emptying his lungs along with hers. With time, the weight in his chest spreads out more evenly, making his limbs feel heavy. He should step away, end this hug, but he can’t make himself do so. Staying is easier than dealing with the aftermath of having to look her in the eyes and feel the shame of this moment.

“Hey,” Hermione says, and tightens her grip for a second. “It’ll get better, okay? Antidepressants can increase your anxiety at first, but it almost always turns around.” Kakashi has no frame of reference for what anxiety is, or if he’s felt it, but he doesn’t have the energy for that discussion.

“I think I hate these pills,” he admits, grateful for the given excuse for his transgression. He would like to think he’d have handled this better if not for the medication.

“You go up to full dose like tomorrow, right?” Kakashi nods. “Okay. And I’m having that weekend off in just over two weeks, when I think you should come road tripping with me. If it’s not better by then, we’ll figure something out, alright?” Kakashi nods again. Hermione breaks their hug, but holds him in place with her hands on his arms. Kakashi simultaneously craves both more and less distance between them. “And if it gets worse,” she says, forcing him to look at her, “you let me know.”

It’s not a question, but the pressure from Hermione’s fingers indicate she wants an answer. There’s an urgency in her eyes that Kakashi wishes he could look away from. His lungs are shrinking again. What’s expected of him is obvious, but he’s not in the habit of going back on his word once given.

He nods.

Before he looks away Kakashi catches the twitch of Hermione’s lips. “Good,” she says, “I’m right here, you know, whenever you need me. If you don’t want to talk about it I’m also good at long rambling monologues about things that upset me, and hugs. A pro, if you ask me.” Her tone is light with the last sentence and when Kakashi glances at her the intensity has faded into softness and the wrinkles around her eyes that comes with her smiling. It’s enough that he should be able to create an exit and make a tactical retreat. “So,” she continues, “what now? Rambling monologue or more hugs?”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Let’s just get out of here,” he says, adding a smile he can’t quite back up with feeling. “It’s too cold for rambling monologues.”

“They work just as well in the car,” Hermione says, and throws herself into a description of some new tv show she’s tried watching but gave up on. “I mean,” she says as they speed down a rapidly darkening road, “why can’t anyone write female characters with some goddamn _dignity_. Or brains. She should have just sent that asshole packing, but it’s like, she’s nothing without a love interest, so she settles for who-the-fuck-ever that treats her like trash in a dive bar. Let her show some self-respect and get a healthy relationship or none at all. The romance usually just gets in the way of plot anyhow.”

“What’s wrong with romance?” Kakashi can’t help but ask. The distraction of the subject makes him feel almost normal again. He suspects that is what Hermione is going for.

“Well,” Hermione waves the hand not on the steering wheel, “it’s all along the lines of ‘he’s a boy, she’s a girl, they notice each other and therefore falls in love.’”

“So, you don’t like people finding each other?”

“I…” Hermione pauses, and glances at him before looking back at the road. “I want people to actually connect, not just walk around on cloud nine with rose-colored glasses and completely ignore every reason they’d be horrible together. And maybe it’s because I’m damaged and cynical and never want a romantic relationship ever again, but I just can’t see why people can’t simply be good friends. Without throwing away their common sense because of some awkward sexual attraction I prefer not to get the details of.”

“I think,” Kakashi answers slowly, “that if you get past the ‘awkward sexual attraction’, there’s a lot of books that that give you people finding one another in a good way.” He moves the pieces of their conversation around in his head, trying to put words on what’s missing. “I also think, that maybe the problem isn’t that they should be horrible together, but isn’t. It is that, in real life, it’s never that easy.”

Hermione goes silent and Kakashi’s temporary equilibrium goes away. He pushed it too far, he wasn’t meant to question her. “Sorry, I’m.” The words stick in his throat. Outside his car widow the lights of a house pass by.

“No, no,” Hermione says and the smile in her voice allows Kakashi to feel the ground beneath him again, “I actually like being questioned, as long as I get to reserve my right to _not_ change my mind if I’m not convinced. I’m just figuring out how to answer.” She takes a breath. “I think you’ve got a point, but you’re talking about romance novels, right? I’m not. I mean, I love a good dance movie every now and then; there’s definitely a place for sappy stories about matches made in heaven and everyone ending up happy. I’m talking about all the movies and tv shows where a strong, intelligent heroine gives up her entire independence and pride because some dude with a pretty face shows up. Or all the smart and funny guys who fall for girls who stares starry-eyed at them and will never challenge them in any way. Who wants that?”

Kakashi thinks it over. He only started watching movies since he came here, and can’t see the point of tv series, but he’s read a book or two like that. “Your rant shouldn’t be about romance then, it should be about bad writing,” he concludes. Hermione’s laugh fills the car and sinks into Kakashi, reminding him that this is also life: the warm feeling of laughter.  

“You’ve gone and done it now,” Hermione says, “you have _no idea_ how much I have to say about bad writing.”

The topic is enough to fill the rest of the car ride, with Kakashi chipping in an example or two. It’s been a fortnight since Hermione broke down in her kitchen, and talking to her now Kakashi can’t help but wonder about that. He can’t see how anyone would find her to be either an insufferable know-it-all or overbearing. Hermione is opinionated, yes, but also interested in what Kakashi has to say, and intelligent enough to offer excellent verbal sparring. Under such conditions it’s not strange that Kakashi sometimes takes the opposite side of a possible discussion only to see what will happen. Gai and his challenges must have affected him more than he’s realized.

“I’m going to borrow you some _proper_ books, because you need a wider frame of reference,” Hermione says as she pulls the car to a stop outside Heimstaðir.

“Keep it up with that tone and I’ll sit on you while loudly translating _all_ of Icha-Icha.” Kakashi gives her his most innocent smile, the one Naruto once said would give him nightmares. “Only to give you a ‘wider frame of reference’ of course.”

“Eugh, no, that would be horrifying.” Hermione laughs and hides her face in her hands. This precise reaction is one of the greatest benefits of Kakashi’s choice of literature. People are very predictable.

“I promise you, it’s all very innocent,” he says, and he’s hardly even lying. There is no downright sex in any of the books, and Hermione believing anything else is all on her.

“Get out of my car.” Hermione pushes Kakashi towards the door.

.oOo.

Laying in his bed later, longing for sleep while his too fast and loud heartbeat drum in his ears, Kakashi’s mind refuses to calm down. He should have stayed away from the subject of his dad. Shouldn’t have let Hermione’s casual touch pull him in. Should have pushed it all down, like he’s always done before. Next time, he must be stronger.

It’s the pills, he tells himself. It’ll get better. But a small voice inside him can’t be silenced as it asks if he hasn’t been thinking things like these for far too long to blame it on medication. He pushes it away and focuses instead on the one genuinely good thing he learnt today; Hermione doesn’t want a romantic relationship ever again. That should mean he’s safe in that regard at least.

There was something, however, in the words Hermione spoke, and in her arms wrapped around him, that Kakashi can’t let go of. He’s felt lonely before in his life, but not like in this moment. Somehow, the feeling is made worse instead of better by the knowledge that there is _something else_ , close enough to touch. The only thing he’d have to do is reach out, and he’d have it. The thought is terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter is not the best thing I’ve published. However, I decided to post this anyway, because I’m happy with myself for writing this at all, and if I try to get it better it’ll take forever (meaning I’ll never get to the next chapter). This is a bit of a filler anyway, because I needed some time to pass. I’ll make the coming one better, I promise, and now I’ll stop rambling and let you read. Lots of love to you!

Kakashi crocheting is something Hermione never thought would happen, until it does. She’s been nagging him about it for some time, thinking it would give both of them something to do, but it’s not until almost a week after the visit to the pool that she finally succeeds. It could be the pills kicking in, or Hermione being very insistent. She remembers the feeling though, from her own times on anti-depressants, of one day realizing that boredom is coming back. Like smog finally beginning to clear. For Kakashi’s sake she hopes that what’s beginning to happen.

They sit next to each other on the couch, and Hermione shows him how to chain, and make single and double crochets. His hands pick up the motions with remarkable speed. No more than an hour later he has finished a headband, it’s stitches even and edges perfectly straight.

“Wow,” she says, “you are actually really good at this.” Finding a tapestry needle, she shows him how to weave in the ends. The yarn he picked from her ever-growing collection of scraps is dark blue Icelandic wool. Not something she would want over her ears and forehead, but she can admit the color will look great with his silver-grey hair.

“I just don’t see the point,” Kakashi tells her as he cuts off the ends and slips the headband on. It’s on the big side, slipping down to cover his scarred eye, but Kakashi doesn’t seem to mind. “Why spend an hour making this when I could buy one in a matter of minutes?” He leans against the couch, lets his head fall backwards and closes his visible eye.

“Well,” she says, “you can get exactly what you want. But it’s also about the process of making it; I find it meditative to work with my hands.”

Kakashi hums, sounding tired. Hermione wants to lean up against him and watch a movie. In the last month alone she’s gotten two real hugs, which is more than she’s had in a long time. It’s been a fix of a drug she thought she had kicked the addiction of. She’s asked herself, more than once, if she wants to be close to Kakashi specifically, or if he’s just the only one available. So far, there has been no answer to find, and instead she tells herself maybe it doesn’t have to matter. He is her friend, and maybe friends can fill that void for each other without it having to mean anything more. 

“I think katas or target practice has better practical and meditational value,” Kakashi says, “or, you know,  _actual_  meditation.” Hermione has a hard time deciding whether it’s mind-blowing or completely obvious that Kakashi apparently knows mediation.

“You know, meditation is actually great for bringing your autonomic nervous system back on track when it gets stuck in stress-mode.” She has already told him that he shouldn’t be training hard enough to get adrenaline, and she thinks they might get into a fight if she brings  _that_  up again, so she doesn’t. This part she hasn’t spoken about however. “There are studies that show two short breathing exercises every day can make your sleep more restful.”

“What makes you think my sleep isn’t restful?” Kakashi opens his eye and turns his head to look at her. The visible eyebrow raises to make his point.

Hermione shrugs. “Is it?” The eye falls shut and Kakashi turns back to the ceiling. A smile thugs at the corners of Hermione’s mouth. She never expected him to answer. “So,” she says, changing the subject, “do I need to worry about retaliation for making you try crocheting?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Kakashi’s tone is dry.

“Not that you’d  _have_  to dream about anything if you can carry it out instead.” Hermione answers, and she thinks there’s a small movement under the mask. “FYI: You’ll never get me running, and I tried and failed to learn hand standing as a kid.”

“Who said I’d retaliate by teaching you something?”

“Well, I did.” Hermione grins. “And I’m still not convinced you actually know how to throw knives, so…”

Kakashi turns to her, and she can’t believe having one eye covered up like that doesn’t bother him. “You want to learn how to throw knives.” It’s a statement, and Hermione feels stupid. He isn’t supposed to be this good at reading her. “Why not just ask?”  

“I don’t know.” Hermione hesitates. Scratches her nose. Pulls her legs up and place her chin on them. “I guess,” she says, “that I didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“We’ve already covered that part,” Kakashi says. Hermione’s stomach makes a painful flip. She not supposed to assume he’s that polite. She can’t get anything right today. “Ask your question,” he continues, and there’s no getting out of it at this point. At least he sounds more tired than frustrated, if that’s a good thing.

“Could you teach me how to throw knives?” Voicing the request is awkward, and Hermione can feel heat rise to her face. She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to do anything. The problem with asking for things is her feeling like it’s only done as a concession, not as a choice.

“Why do you want to learn that?” Kakashi asks her, and she’s too busy trying to sink through the couch to decode more than his words.

“It just seems like a cool thing to know. Random.” She tries a smile and shrugs. “Could be an epic party trick. Not that I really  _like_  parties, but.” Kakashi blinks slowly at her, and she realizes he might not see knife-throwing like a party trick. Oops. She’s been talking past herself again. “I don’t know,” she adds, trying to negate some of the damage, “it’s one of those things no one would expect me to be able to do. An ace up my sleeve when I’m accused of being a boring book-worm who only know things in theory.”

“Hn,” Kakashi straightens his neck and looks back at the ceiling, “I’ll see what I can do.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either.

.oOo.

Spring is around the corner; the fields in the lower part of the valley shift from yellow to green, and the list of things that need doing grows longer. Hermione’s official hours are only enough for milking seven days a week, but she never liked watching others work while she sits idle. She helps walking the fences instead, repairs gates, nails barbed wire to wooden posts, and gets an extensive collection of little cuts and scratches as payoff. A whole afternoon is spent in Kakashi’s company untangling an enormous nest of electrical cord and putting up a temporary fence for Ingo to bring the horses home.

Trying to change the route of seven galloping houses with a riding whip feels like trying to stave off the tide with a bucket. Hermione is supposed to make herself big, loud, and scary, but the horses outmatch her in all three categories. They get the horses back down from the garden and try again with Kristín backing her up at the gate, and this time the horses turn in front of them and goes inside the pen. It’s a bittersweet victory. The small horses are still fluffy from winter coats not fully shed, and Ingo introduces them, showing her how to approach and what to look out for. Their muzzles are soft and careful as they search her hands, negating some of the left-over nervousness from watching them in full flight. Hermione thinks she can learn to like horses.

That Kakashi has seemed more tired since starting his medication is hardly surprising. Hermione remembers the exhaustion she’d felt as she’d been in his place, as well as the nosebleeds and nausea. Given his reaction at the pool she thinks he’s feeling worse emotionally as well, and she knows she should somehow make sure he’s not suicidal. Especially after learning about his dad. She’d excused herself out on that parking lot with the reason that the timing was bad, that he was too vulnerable in that moment. She’d used the same excuse later, but for not wanting to shake what stability he had. It makes her a coward and a bad friend, serving as a constant source of guilt and anxiety. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make anything easier. 

Two nights before their trip, Kakashi hands Hermione a weirdly shaped knife. It’s a solid piece that lies heavy in her hand, and a careful stroke of her thumb proves the edges to be sharp enough to do real damage. A weird sense of power comes from holding it. She swallows. This is a weapon, she realizes, not prop for a party trick or a toy for a boring day. Kakashi carries four more, strung together by a piece of rope through the rings ending the handles.

“Did you bring these with you from home?” Hermione asks to have something to say. “I didn’t think you could bring stuff like this through customs.” The handle under her fingers is wrapped in tape, providing grip against the polished metal.

“No one said anything,” Kakashi says, looking perfectly innocent.

Hermione chuckles, her insides unclenching. By now she knows how to read that expression. “You didn’t ask, did you?” she asks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kakashi tries to hide it, but he’s smiling under his mask.

“At least you weren’t smuggling guns.” She raises her eyebrows in tandem, because she never figured out how to move them separately. “I hope?” she adds, suddenly not so sure.

“They don’t fly well,” Kakashi answers, and Hermione shakes her head and laughs. It dies as she looks back down at the weapon in her hand. While the edges are pristine there’s faint scratches along the sides of the blade and a dent in the loop. Something this sturdy doesn’t come by that kind of wear and tear easily.

“Have you used these?” She isn’t sure she wants to know, but she also knows that as long as nothing’s confirmed she’ll assume the worst anyway. “Like, for real,” she adds.

“Yes,” he says, without hesitation or need for clarification. Probably yes to  _all_  scenarios then. He holds his quartet up in front of him, studying them. “Maybe not this one,” he hits one of the handles, making the whole bunch swing, “it looks new.”

Hermione opens her mouth. Closes it again. She can feel Kakashi’s eyes on her, but she keeps her gaze on the knife in her hand. Does she really want to ask the next question? If she does, she needs to be prepared for the answer, to be okay with having it confirmed. “Have you killed anyone with them?” Her heart is beating and her palms clammy, but she looks up at Kakashi as she speaks. She owes him that much.

Kakashi stills, his eyebrows twitching downwards before finding a neutral position. “I don’t keep track of individual kunai,” he says, “so I can’t answer for these specifically. But it’s not unlikely.”

The weight of the blade increases with the answer, and Hermione looks at it, tries to imagine it buried in a human being. She can’t. Holding it reminds her of Bellatrix wand. There isn’t the same menacing feeling to the knife – kunai Kakashi called it – but it’s an inanimate object without a personality, not a wand, and it has hopefully not been used to bring pain in the same way. It’s still potentially a murder weapon.

“So, um, have you done that a lot?” Hermione asks, because having gone this far it’s better to process the real facts than filling in the gaps on her own. She wishes she could be sure the answers will be the right ones, or that she could reassure Kakashi it doesn’t matter. But it does, and he must know that.

“Yes.” He holds her gaze, clearly finding it easier to admit to this than to being tired or sad. Hermione thinks about the tattoo on his shoulder, the one he told her are from his time in Black Ops. “Is that going to be a problem?” Kakashi asks, his tone unapologetic but his movements micromanaged. She has guessed, of course, that Kakashi has blood on his hands, but it’s never been stated before.

The war Hermione fought only ever had a handful of battles to begin with, and only one of them big enough to be fought by more than a dozen people – most without formal training. She has no clue what it’s like to be in an army, least of all some kind of special forces. Kakashi grew up in a culture where the rules state that you should sacrifice anything for the mission. Killing is probably commonplace in such a place. Can she judge him for that? At the battle of Hogwarts she’d left enemies behind, bleeding from wounds she’d known would prove fatal. She has killed too, if not directly.

“I don’t know,” she admits out loud. It feels unfair to have led them here and not be able to give him a better answer.

“I will not apologize,” Kakashi says, “and I will not change.” He appears calm, almost detached, but Hermione can see his knuckles whitening from gripping the rope with the kunai. “I will never find pleasure in taking another life, but I do it without remorse when it is necessary.”

“Were they all bad people?” That’s how Hermione justifies the deaths by her and her friends’ hands: Voldemort and his followers were a poison that needed to be stopped, and at the time that was the only way. Imprisoning people isn’t a choice in the middle of fighting for your life, and a Stupefy can too easily be undone.

Kakashi stuffs his hands in his pockets, the sharp-edged knives dragging against the fabric of his pants as he shrugs. “There’s no such thing as bad people,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “There are only different sides and a lot of paths to what you think is right. Everyone fights for things they love, only some do it in the wrong way according to others.”

Hermione can’t argue with that, even if she wants to for her own sanity’s sake.

“Okay,” she says instead, dragging a hand through her hair, “I don’t like that to be true, and I think that some people are sick, and that some actions are unforgiveable and can’t be explained away, but I see your point. No one sees themselves as evil.” She gives Kakashi a small smile before she continues. “I’ll never condone killing,” she makes clear. “I believe life should be preserved if at all possible. But we come from different places, and I think I can live with agreeing to disagree on that. So, no, we don’t have a problem.”

It’s a decision, more than anything. Hermione  _decides_  she will be okay with this. Even if she might not be there yet, will need hours to think things over before knowing what she really feels, she needs to be okay with it because the alternative is losing him. The Kakashi she knows probably isn’t a cold-blooded murderer any more than Molly Weasley is for deliberately killing Bellatrix. He’s probably just been in more of those kinds of situations. Besides, he just called Hermione out on her simplified world-view and refused her naïve justification for his actions. That must speak for something.

She hopes she’s never proven wrong.

.oOo.

Before Hermione is allowed to so much as consider sending her first kunai towards the plywood and cardboard target Kakashi has put together, she’s given an extensive safety lecture. It drives home the point of this being weapons, and it makes her simultaneously anxious and eager. She’s an intellectual pacifist who doesn’t believe in violence, but throwing knives is sort of cool anyway. As long as she pushes away the fact that Kakashi uses this to maim and kill.

Kakashi, despite saying he never taught anyone the basics before, turns out to be a good teacher. He breaks the movements down, corrects her stance, and has an eye for catching where she makes mistakes. An hour later Hermione sinks the full set into the cardboard, not a single kunai bouncing of due to faulty rotation, and she raises her arms and cheers. Kakashi smiles and she grins back at him as she goes to collect the knives.

“Well done,” he says, when Hermione is on her way back, mindful to not cut her fingers or nick the edges on each other. Handling five kunai at once isn’t as effortless as Kakashi make it seem. “I think that’s a good place to stop for tonight.”

“This was fun,” Hermione tells him. “You’re a great teacher. I’d never thought I could manage it this well in just an hour, I’m known for being rubbish at catching and throwing things.” Her smile widens; beating her own preconceptions - and with something that’ll make Ron both jealous and disbelieving should it ever come up (because yes, it’s been years, and they’re supposed to be friends, but she’s still allowed a bit of a grudge) - feels great. “Can I keep practicing on my own?”

“You are obviously not rubbish at throwing things,” Kakashi says. It puts a warm feeling in Hermione’s chest. “But no, you can’t practice on your own until I’m convinced you don’t risk injuring yourself. There’s a reason you are supposed to start with training knives.” Hermione pouts. He raises an eyebrow in return and pats her shoulder. It’s a small gesture, jokingly condescending when paired with his tone, but he doesn’t usually instigate physical contact. Not even the Icelandic wind can chill Hermione in that moment. “I’ll bring them more times,” he promises before he picks the kunai from her hands. 

“Whoa, not so fast,” she says when he begins to string the kunai back together. He stops and looks at her. “I need to see you throwing them for real, not only demonstrating beginner’s technique for me. Otherwise, I refuse to believe you are better than me.” She puts on a mock innocent face, knowing she’s goading him and not ashamed of that in the slightest.

“And what makes you think I’d do anything when you can’t even ask nicely?” There’s a smile beneath his mask that he tries to hide by a lifted eyebrow and a dry tone.

“Well if you don’t I’ll lay down and scream on the top of my lungs.” Hermione crosses her arms and sticks her tongue out.

“Blackmailing? Really? You know I’m standing here with weapons I’m more than capable of using?” Kakashi holds them up to remind her. With the knowledge gained about his use of the kunai Hermione should probably feel worried, but she doesn’t. If anything, him joking about it this way reduces the seriousness of the subject.

“Hm,” Hermione pushes her lips together, “fair point. Pretty please?” She smiles sweetly and flutters her eyelashes. “That better?”

“No.” Kakashi shudders. With a quick motion he divides the kunai between his hands, three in his left and two in his right, going against the one-kunai-at-a-time rule Hermione has to follow. Turning around so that he has his back to Hermione Kakashi launches the two kunai almost simultaneously and Hermione watches them sail in a straight line before embedding themselves with a dull sound in a fencepost. The three others follow them to form an evenly spaced line along the height of the pole. Hermione blinks.

An inarticulate sound makes its way past Hermione’s lips as she stares at Kakashi. He turns to her and cocks his head. “Holy fuck,” she says, the words seem appropriate here, “that’s what? Fifty feet? That’s crazy. They weren’t even spinning.”

“Ma, I find it better to keep the pointy end towards the enemy.” Kakashi shrugs and Hermione laughs with disbelief. “Keep up your training and maybe there'll be time for some more advanced things.”

“Not that though,” Hermione says as they get the kunai. “I’ll never be able to do that.” She can hear the awe in her voice but doesn’t bother with trying to hide it.

“Probably not,” Kakashi agrees, “but then I’ve been doing this since before you were born, so I have an unfair advantage.”

Hermione asks herself if she heard that right. “Since before I was born?” That can’t be right. “But you’re only four years older than me.”

“Yes,” Kakashi answers, “and by the time you started that boarding school of yours I’d already done several years in ANBU. Your part of the world moves slowly.”

It takes everything Hermione has not to scream. She thinks it shows on her face. This is not, however, a moment when she can freak out. Kakashi just shared something with her, and her going revenging angel on his behalf is more than likely to alienate him. He’d been  _fifteen_  when she started Hogwarts. “That’s,” she stutters, “that’s. I don’t know what to say to that. How old were you when you enlisted?”

_You don’t want to know_ ; a voice tries to say in the back of Hermione’s mind. She ignores it. She asked about Kakashi’s kills, he answered, and she is finding a way to deal with that. Far be it from her to not deal now, when he’s volunteering information he must know will upset her.

“I finished school and started active duty at five,” Kakashi says. It sounds like he thinks that’s perfectly normal. For a millisecond Hermione feels sorry for his therapist. “They let me graduate early, because I was good, and it was war.”

“But you were a child,” she can’t help but point out. Kakashi shrugs. The failings of the grown-ups in the magical world forced Hermione to grow up too fast, and it’s upsetting enough that they put it on teenagers to fight their war for them. She was only twelve the first time her life was in danger, and for the first time in her life that makes her _old_. It’s a messed-up world they live in.

“Kids grow up differently where I come from,” he says. “I can’t imagine skipping ropes and playing games at the age the children here does it. It would have driven me insane.”

“But five?” Hermione stares at him as he finishes up the knot on the sling and looks up to meet her eyes.

“Like I said, it was war.” Kakashi still has that awfully casual tone that sounds genuine. “They put in a lower limit, some years later, after an incident. These days no one is allowed to graduate before their twelfth birthday, wonderchild or not.”

Hermione rubs a hand over her face. They take the first steps back towards the house in silence. “I’m sorry,” she says eventually, “but that’s still insane.”

“Well,” Kakashi says, “I guess that’s just another thing where we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

.oOo.

Kristín and Ingo’s son and grandchildren are coming to stay the weekend, so Friday morning after milking Hermione and Kakashi pack their bags in the trunk of the car and hit the road. There’s rain in the air, making pin-pricks on the windshield that are too sparse for any setting of the wipers, but too consistent not to wipe away. Hermione smiles.

The sun breaks through as they stop at Goðafoss, giving them rainbows in the mist of the falls and brightening the greens of moss and grass. Kakashi wears his headband going out, despite the way it keeps slipping down, and Hermione sees other tourists watching him. She forgets sometimes that he wears his mask, it having become part of his face, but it sticks out in a crowd. Having lived with Harry for a friend and the Weasley’s for family-in-law Hermione is immune to attention both in the magical community and out in the real world, and so isn’t bothered. They can stare for all she cares.

They talk, sporadically, and she plays Fleet Foxes and Devotchka, letting them set the tone to the landscape flowing past the windows. Before lunch, when she needs energy, she switches to her regular driving playlist and sings along to All Star and MMMBop and Gives You Hell, then sit-dances as much as driving allows to Livin’ la Vida Loca. Kakashi calls her insane, as she finally parks the car outside a gas station serving hamburgers. Hermione grins in response. All the best people are a little bit crazy after all.

She tries to get Kakashi to pick the music after lunch, but he refuses. The same unmovable way he refused to let her pay her part of the gas, citing that he has paychecks from 25 years of service he doesn’t know what to do with, and that she is the only one driving. Hermione ends up yielding both fights. She keeps telling others to accept  _her_  generosity and needs to start listening to her own words, even if giving has always been easier than receiving.

The afternoon is spent in the Mývatn-area, climbing old black-earthed pseudo-craters overlooking the lake, marveling at strangely shaped stone pillars left behind from a time when this place was all wetlands and volcanic activity, and scrambling through the stone mazes at Dimmuborgir. The landscapes are rugged, and unfriendly, and so beautiful they take Hermione’s breath away. She can feel the wild magics tugging at her soul as she stands in the wind, lone raindrops hitting her face, and knows it’s strong enough that even non-magicals can feel it.

Kakashi seems marginally better, a stable presence at her side as they stand in silence with the world stretching out beneath their feet. He jokes a little more and can be dragged into teasing banter a little easier, but still disappears at times; staring out the car windows or falling asleep as Hermione drives.

That’s alright. Hermione knows something about being tired.

The next day they continue east. They make an unplanned stop at a random parking lot in the Námaskarð pass, and it feels like another planet. The ground is burnt orange under Hermione’s feet, whiter areas off the path indicating the thinness of the crust, and the distant mountaintops providing a blue-grey contrast to bring the color out. Standing on the top of Namafjáll, looking down at the foul-smelling, bubbling, smoky geothermal area where they plan to stop next, Hermione feels perfectly content. Like she could do this forever. Not even the smell of rotten eggs can destroy the stillness of her mind. She bumps into Kakashi with her shoulder. “I’m happy you joined me,” she tells him.

“Well,” he says, tone dry, “this way you can at least pretend to be speaking to someone when you want to seem sane.” 

Hermione laughs.

The blacks and browns of lava-fields comes next, and then huge dead plains as they follow a bumpy gravel road north. They stand at the side of Dettifoss, getting wet from the amount of water it throws up in the air. Hermione never like fast-flowing rivers, but she has to admit it’s a powerful experience. The roar of the water is deafening, and the silence once back in the car feels like cotton in her ears.

Driving the rest of the way to Ásbyrgi takes far longer than expected, but the evening is bright, the sun casting long shadows over the road. When they park in the huge, horse-shoe-shaped canyon the world is greying. Following a path through the low birch forest they come within reach to clamber up to the wall forming the canyon side. Once they make it to a decently flat boulder Hermione turns around and looks out over the shrubbery, the days moisture raising like mist from the treetops. It’s a separate universe, shielded by the way it’s hundreds of feet lower than the surrounding lands. No one else is around.

“Wow,” she whispers, the moment not allowing for anything louder. Rotating slowly on the spot she leans back and takes in the massive wall behind her. She can’t guess how high it is, only knows that to her eyes; it goes on forever. Carefully stepping forward between the fallen blocks around them, Hermione places her palm against the uneven rockface. For the first time in her life she wishes she could climb. Not that it’d be allowed in a place like this. She turns to Kakashi to share her thoughts but pauses as she sees his face.

It’s a look she knows. Her hand goes to her throat, and under her fingerstips she can feel the faded line clearly. The scar is old enough she doesn’t think about it much, hidden as it is under the curve of her chin. It’s not strange Kakashi didn’t see it until now. “Most people who notice ask about it,” she tells him when the silence drags.

“Do you want me to do that?” Kakashi says, studying her. Hermione shrugs.

“I usually make something up,” she says, “but it’s from a knife.” Wrapping an arm across her abdomen Hermione looks back out over the giant canyon.

“I figured,” Kakashi says, and for some reason it puts a smile on Hermione’s lips. Not a happy one, but still. She decides to tell him.

“You know how I said I went on the run with Harry and Ron when I was seventeen, because a psycho wanted Harry dead?” A glance shows Kakashi nodding. “We ended up in the clutches of said psycho’s right hand at one point, and she singled me out to answer questions. Apparently, she gave me this when the boys came to break me out. I wasn’t conscious at that point, which is probably good since the rescue mission involved me being hit by a chandelier. The other cuts didn’t scar, but for some reason this one did.”

Looking over at Kakashi, Hermione can see strain around his eyes and creases where his eyebrows and nose meet. “What do I say to that?” he asks her, and she shrugs in response.

“I don’t think there’s anything  _to_  say,” she admits. “It happened. I learned to live with it. End of story.”

“I think,” Kakashi says after a few seconds, sounding thoughtful, “that some stories never end, they just fade into the background after a while.”

And that, Hermione thinks, is why she told Kakashi about this in the first place. Everyone else has freaked out on her behalf.

“Yeah,” she says.

In the silence that follows Kakashi places a hand on Hermione’s arm. She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. Somehow that covers it all.

“So am I.” Hermione swallows, then takes a moment to memorize the view in front of her before she turns back to Kakashi. Her smile this time is weak but honest. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, “I’m starving.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me! I hope to get started on the next chapter soon, but as with this one I’m exhausted from RL right now. Don’t worry however, I haven’t stopped, I just work a little slower. In the meantime, please let me know what you think. Reviews always make me happy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long. My work’s been a catastrophe, to put it mildly, and it’s been sucking all life out of me. At least I’ve found my way back to writing now, which always makes me feel better. This chapter is (by far) the longest yet, meaning it took longer to write, but there’s also more to read. More chapters are already planned out, and hopefully real life lets me write more these coming weeks.  
>   
> Thank you for sticking with me. I love you all!

Kakashi is still on the phone with the fire department as he jogs after Hermione. The field has her stumbling and swearing, the backpack she wasted time bringing bumping against her with every stride. The house on the opposite side of the valley had come into sight a few minutes ago, smoke coming out from the eaves and dispersing in the wind. Hermione had thrown the phone to Kakashi and told him the number almost before he’d had time to react, then she hit the gas. The car sits abandoned on the roadside behind them now, not able to bring them any closer to their destination.

The plan for today was to sleep in and then take their time driving the backroads home. They were not supposed to end up right by a hornet’s nest that just _begs_ Kakashi to kick it. People might be trapped inside the burning house, but there’s no way to tell. Not yet. A car is parked in the driveway but that doesn’t mean anything, Kakashi tells himself. He thinks he could get away with using chakra in a life-or-death situation, but first he needs to confirm that’s what this is. This fire can be dealt with in seconds if needed, even if that might give the house some structural damage, but that could never be explained away once the actual firefighters come here. Besides, civilians are fragile enough that the water-jutsus he knows might kill them more efficiently than the fire will.

This valley, as most of them, is divided by a river in its lowest part, separating them from the house. Spring flooding has it running high on its banks and spreading over the lowest part of the field. Hermione comes to a halt in front of him. Between the operator’s question on the phone and everything else going on, Kakashi’s grateful for the reminder; people are _not_ supposed to keep running straight out over water. Reigning his instinctual responses in and staying inactive are hard after so many years of training his reflexes to act without thought.

Squatting down Hermione dips her fingers in the water, withdrawing them with a hiss. “It’s too cold,” she says, staring at Kakashi, “we’ll never be able to swim.”

Across the river the smoke is steadily increasing in volume but Hermione stands with her back to its source, her eyes trained on Kakashi. There’s a peculiar look on her face, narrowing her eyes and turning her lips into nothing more than thin lines. She says something, under her breath, and it’s drowned by the voice on the phone asking if Kakashi’s still there. As he confirms his presence to the operator Hermione produces an ornate stick. Which she waves around saying made-up words. Kakashi blinks. Blinks again. Has she lost her mind?

Sparks shoot out from the stick.

Kakashi hangs up the phone. He thinks he say something to excuse himself, but he’s honestly not sure. The firemen will be on their way no matter what. Hermione makes a frustrated sound as a plastic toy boat appears in front of her. It looks like a magic trick, but there is no such thing as magic. _There isn’t_. Right?

“Oh, come on,” Hermione shouts as a high-pitched whine is all she gets from her next wave of the stick. Wand, Kakashi thinks, that might just be a _wand_ , and this is completely insane. Hermione is a perfectly normal civilian (who’s been hunted and tortured, a voice in his head whispers, but he pushes that away), she shouldn’t be waving a piece of wood around making pointless things happen.

Despite them not being directly downwind, wayward smoke itches in Kakashi’s lungs. He should get out of here, shunshin away when she’s distracted. This is not something he should have missed. “Hermione?” he hears himself saying instead, the confusion clear in his voice.

“Questions later.” She glances at him and pauses for a second. “I’ll explain,” she says, face pinched, “after I’ve managed to get us over there, so we can make sure…” Her eyes whip to the left.

Kakashi turns to follow her stare to a person, too small for a grown-up, that just exited an outbuilding. It runs, as fast as it’s legs can carry it, towards the house. Hermione screams for it to stop, her voice loud and panicking.

A wave of her stick makes a crater on the opposite riverbank, soil and grass raining down around it. “Fucking cooperate!” Hermione’s voice rings in Kakashi’s ears, but the words seem shouted at the universe in general. An uninflated rubber boat turns up and she cries out wordlessly. On the other side of the water the figure has almost reached the front door.

This can now, without doubt, be classified as a life-or-death situation, Kakashi thinks. For the civilian kid, running towards a burning house. And for _Hermione_ , who doesn’t seem to have any control over what results comes from her wandwaving. In this moment he pushes the strangeness of that thought away, he can process it later. There are things to do first, and shinobi are not ruled by feelings.

.oOo.

“Hermione?” She can hear Kakashi beside her, but there’s _no time_. Of course he has questions, she gets that this all is weird and scary and whatever else he might be feeling, but there’s a teenage boy taking the last steps before reaching a burning house. She doesn’t have time for questions.

The Icelandic magic who felt so wonderfully alive and wild only two days ago are a nightmare now. The harder she pushes the more erratic her results become, and the rubber boat must be the cosmic joke of a lifetime. She hates this fucking country. It’s so frustrating she wants to throw things and scream. There’s no time for that either. 

“Hermione,” Kakashi says again, and this time his tone is sharp. An order, rather than a question. Hermione glances to her side and sees he’s reaching out, as if waiting for her to take his hand. Across the water the sound of exploding glass draws her attention back. The person who tried to enter is staggering backwards, still alive, but the oxygen supplied by his action has accelerated the fire. Flames are now licking the façade from one of the ground floor windows, and the boy is screaming for someone.

“Don’t freak out,” Kakashi tells her. But this _is_ the time to freak out. She can’t get them over there, the magic’s not responding as it should. They’ll drown before reaching the other side if they try swimming. And people are _dying_.

Before she can think anything else, Kakashi grabs her and lifts her up. She very nearly hexes him, except it probably wouldn’t work like intended. He should have warned her, she thinks, then realizes he did. There can’t be much weight difference between them, but he throws her over his shoulder like she’s made of down. It’s uncomfortable; his shoulder digging into her stomach and her head and arms flailing against his back. There is no time to voice her complains before Kakashi leaps.

Hermione screams. It’s not something she’s proud of, but he launches them out over the river and for a moment she is sure he’ll kill them both. The he touches down. She can clearly see his foot pressing against the water, the surface tension somehow holding his weight, before he leaps again. A single step is ten feet at least, and two more of them is enough to get them across to the other shore.

An inarticulate sound makes it through Hermione’s throat as Kakashi sets her down. She might have thought he could be magical, but magic cannot allow someone to walk on water. Especially without a wand. That’s not how the world works. You can find ways to get across: Conjure boats, transfigure something into a bridge, levitate someone (or yourself), or maybe even turn the water into ice. Simply step on it? Not possible.

“Questions later.” Kakashi uses her own words against her and she can’t blame him, but she can’t focus on anything else either. She wants to speak, even if she has no idea what to say, but a gust of wind throws the smoke their way. It stings in Hermione’s eyes and lungs, heavy with the tang of plastics and dark enough to black the sun out. (And there’s the Room of Hidden Things, burning around them, licking the hems of her robes, and, **_not now_**.) She can feel Kakashi grabbing her again, getting them out of the way. When they emerge from the smoke he’s got the kid tucked under his other arm. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

Placing his hands on the boy’s shoulder Kakashi bends down to stare him in the eyes. “How many are inside?” he asks.

“Two,” the boy answers. He can’t be more than thirteen. There are tear tracks in the soot on his face. “My dad and my sister.” His face and tone are suspiciously vacant. As if there’s some kind of mind-magic going on. Hermione bites her tongue to not lash out. Later, she tells herself. Later.

“Where?” Kakashi questions.

“Probably upstairs. Dad was sleeping, room in the back.” The boy’s accent is heavy and his sentences incomplete, but it’s more than Hermione hoped for. “Mía’s room is the corner.” He slumps under Kakashi’s hands, and Hermione dives forward to guide him to the ground.

“What did you,” Hermione’s voice dies out as she looks up and sees Kakashi’s hands coming apart. There’s five of him now, four of which takes off towards the house. She watches them, two disappearing around the corner into the smoke while the other two run up the wall to the corner room window. Stammering, Hermione turns back to the Kakashi by her side. “What… That’s... Who _are_ you?”

“Hatake Kakashi, Copy Ninja of Konohagakure,” he answers, his casualness slammed like a shield between them. Hermione blinks, the sound of the fire turning to grey noise in her ears. People aren’t supposed to make copies of themselves, or run on water, or walls. None of this makes any sense. “And you?” Kakashi asks, and Hermione knows from his too laid-back tone she needs to find her voice and answer.

 

.oOo.

“I’m a witch,” Hermione says, her eyes wide, “but you can’t be a ninja, ninjas are a myth.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow at her. “As opposed to witches?” he asks. One of his shadow clones releases in that moment, sending chakra rushing back to him with memories of painful heat and smoke in his lungs. Its companion rounds the corner, carrying the father over his shoulders. At first glance the man appears unharmed, but as he’s put down on the ground Kakashi can tell he’s not breathing right. Clone-Kakashi dissolves in smoke after checking his pulse, his consciousness merging with Kakashi’s. It doesn’t look good.

Another clone disperses, and the fourth one jumps from a window with a little girl in his arms. She’s placed next to her brother, but as the last clone disappears Kakashi knows she’s put under by genjutsu, not unconscious. He breaths out and relaxes his stance.

“Hey!” By her tone Hermione’s tried to get his attention before. He’s been a little busy, but he can see how it wouldn’t look like it. When he looks at her she’s rearranging the limp body of the father, rolling him to his side. There’s a nasty-looking burn covering part of his arm and stretching across his shoulder, redness coloring the skin around it. Kakashi remembers the rush of heat as the first clone dissolved, the split second of difference between making it out the window and being too late. “Are they okay?” she says, “what happened to them?” The look she sends him is as sharp as a kunai.

Didn’t he tell himself, only minutes ago, that this was a hornet’s nest? And yet here he is, smack in the middle of it, Hermione’s words the stings of invisible wasps. She clearly doesn’t trust him, and why would she? He doesn’t really trust her at the moment. The amount of lies between them is staggering. “The dad is unconscious,” he says, keeping to the practicalities, “It was a close call to get him out in time. The children are fine; the girl had closed her door and was hiding under her bed. She was conscious when the clones found her.”

“And now?” Hermione’s eyes narrow. Maybe Kakashi should never have admitted to killing people, she might have looked at him differently then. He knows civilians can be weird with that sort of thing.

“Asleep, deeply. I’d rather you didn’t wake them.” His mission parameters clearly state he’s not allowed to expose himself, and that’s easier without witnesses. That said, Hemione shouldn’t be here either. He had his chance to put her out before he crossed the river, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d picked her up and brought her along, protocol be damned. It’s hard not to question that choice now, but there is no going back.

While they’ve been speaking Hermione has rearranged the girl as well. She moves back to the father and shrugs out of her backpack. “How long before the emergency services are here?” she asks as a first aid kit is placed on the ground next to her, small glass bottles clinking together as she takes them out. When Kakashi tells her it’s at least ten minutes, one of the vials is uncorked. Something is dropped on the burn, and to Kakashi’s astonishment it closes over, new skin forming over the wound. Healing isn’t supposed to be that easy. A few drops from another bottle is poured into the man’s mouth before Hermione packs up and stands. His breathing doesn’t get much better, but a little color returns to his skin.

“That’s all I can do,” she says. With nothing left to occupy herself with she’s practically vibrating, her pupils dilated as she stares at Kakashi. “I did civilian first responder classes after… Well, just _after_ , but they’re not much help when I can’t cast spells.” Another window blows out as the fire finds new energy. Hermione flinches.

The thought shunshining away resurface in Kakashi’s mind. This is messed up. He shouldn’t be here. He don’t know how to do this. Any of it. Hermione knows about him now, and she’s got some kind of erratic power she claims is magic. Everything is upside down, and while he has hidden parts of his life from her, he didn’t think she’d done the same. At least not to this extent.

When Hermione first told him she’d spent a year on the run as a teenager, Kakashi figured she’d meant it in the civilian way. That she and her friends had been laying low in a cabin somewhere, bored and maybe scared, but _safe_. It was only yesterday he got any reason to question that assumption. To make matters worse, he remembers her saying long ago that several things happened. In plural. Like being tortured was not the only trauma in that year. Add the recent discoveries of witchcraft and healing tinctures to that and Kakashi has _no idea_ how to handle this. Running away seems like a valid choice. She’s been lying to him, after all. Everything has been a lie.

A hand closes around his wrist, a small piece of his skin pinched where Hermione’s forefinger and thumb meets. The grip is almost strong enough to hurt. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me here,” she hisses at him. “I’m about ten seconds from a major freak-out, and I’m not sorting this shit out alone. Okay?”

Kakashi looks at her, in the aftermath of her words. The hand holding him in place is nothing, it cannot restrain him. He could leave. He _should_ leave. And never come back. But if he does, everything leading up to this point will have been for nothing. Watching her now, the fire behind her tainting the tips of her hair orange, Kakashi knows it’s already too late. It has been for some time. He doesn’t want to. He wants them to be able to get past this. The realization is simultaneously a punch to the stomach and a softness spreading through his limbs.

_He doesn’t want to leave._

He nods.

.oOo.

“You’re telling me,” the police officer says, “that you happened across a rubber boat, took that over the river, had the boy tell you where his family was before he fainted in your arms, found a ladder on the ground, and got them out without injuring yourselves? Oh, _and_ the father already had a large burn that was several days old? That his family somehow missed?” His accent isn’t thick enough to hide the sarcasm as he repeats their agreed upon story.

“Exactly,” Hermione answers, “we were really very lucky.” The officer sighs. It’s not the best plan they could have come up with, Kakashi thinks, but there hadn’t been much time. Besides, the easier the better when you’re supposed to keep your lies straight.

“I’ll need your names, IDs, and contact information. And you shouldn’t try to leave the country for the next couple of days.” Kakashi bristles. He should put an end to this, it’s both insulting and boring. Only, he’s not supposed to be doing any jutsus and being uncooperative at this stage will not look great.

“Kakashi Hatake,” he says, keeping to the order of names they use here. Behind the policeman the firefighters are hard at work, the smoke washed white with steam. An ambulance rushed the father off to the hospital a few minutes ago, and the other officer followed in the patrol car with the children.

“Okay Kakashi,” the policeman juts something down in his notepad, “ID?” Kakashi takes a moment to meet the man’s eyes before he slowly raises an eyebrow.

“They’re in the car, officer,” Hermione cuts in before Kakashi can answer. He arranges his eyes in a smile and wonders if she knew what was on the tip of his tongue. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

The pen pauses on its way across the paper and the policeman slowly turns to Hermione. “ _The_ Hermione Granger?” Kakashi does a double take; the officer’s astonishment, the slight twitch of Hermione’s hand even as she smiles. There’s something here he’s missed, and surely this day has had enough revelations by now. “Harry Potter’s Hermione Granger?” The nameless man stares at her over the top of his glasses. Kakashi follows his gaze. There’s a pink tinge on Hermione’s cheeks but determination in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t say I’m _Harry’s_ ,” she tells him, “I belong to no one but myself.”

“Oh, er, of course,” the officer reddens and scratches his neck, “I didn’t mean to imply…” He offers his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.” Hermione shakes it, and Kakashi is beginning to feel this is too much. He takes a slow breath to keep himself from showing all these people how fast he can get out of here.  

“No worry,” Hermione says, “are you?” she cocks her head instead of finishing the sentence. It’s clear what she means. Great. Possibly another magic-user and Hermione’s some kind of celebrity. And it’s not even three o’clock in the afternoon.

“No, no, God no,” the policeman answers, “But my niece is. You’re her biggest idol, that’s why I,” he makes a wave with the pen. Hermione has told Kakashi about the Statute of Secrecy, and that must be the reason so little is said out loud. At least he knows now why she couldn’t be honest with him. “Could I possibly trouble you for an autograph for her?” the officer says and Kakashi reigns in the impulse to stare at Hermione. This is not the time for him to appear confused.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Hermione says and accepts the notepad and pen. “What’s her name?” She smiles, but it looks rehearsed to Kakashi, not quite like her real one. He doubts the officer can tell the difference.

Hermione scribbles down a short message, signs the paper, and tries handing it back to the policeman before agreeing to take a picture with it first. “It can’t be made public,” she tells him. The smile is still cutting through her face, but her tone is serious. “I hope you understand; there are some people who were never caught, and if I end up in the press or online they might come looking. You don’t want these people on your doorstep, officer.”

A chill runs through Kakashi, and it has nothing to do with the wind. Over the last two days he’s found out she’s been tortured, is a witch – apparently a famous one at that – and now there’s an active threat? Does he know her at all? Kakashi keeps his face and posture impassive as the policeman agrees to her terms for the photograph. Shinobi doesn’t show feelings.

“So,” the man says, “you happened across a rubber boat, took that over the river, had the boy tell you where his family was before he fainted in your arms, found a ladder on the ground, and got the other two out without injuring yourselves. You were indeed lucky.” This time there’s no sarcasm, but he blinks at the end, sharing a secret. “Oh,” he adds, “and I apparently forgot to get your names. How embarrassing of me.” He chuckles and Hermione laughs with him, that faux smile back on her face. It wraps like an earth jutsu around Kakashi’s ribcage.

.oOo.

They take the rubber boat back across the river. It’s crowded, Hermione in the bow with the oars and Kakashi in the stern, their knees almost brushing together between them. It’s impossible to board without tracking in water, and the inflated ribs in the bottom does little to keep their pants from soaking. Behind them the firefighters call out to each other. A creaking sound echoes across the valley and Kakashi turns around in time to see part of the roof folding in on itself. Sparks fly up like orange stars against the smoke before their light fades.

The ride is not long. Kakashi uses it to lean back as much as he can against the low hull and letting Hermione’s hushed voice wash over him. She’s speaking about the policeman, and whether him recognizing her was good or bad luck. As they scramble up the riverbank on the other side she moves on to some kind of magical theory that doesn’t interest Kakashi enough for him to properly listen. There’s a number of things he should be processing at the moment, and while his mind can’t decide where to start with that; magical theory is right at the bottom of the list.

“I just don’t get it,” Hermione says as they walk back across the field. The sky is clearing, the sun showing small ash flakes sticking to Hermione’s clothes and entangled in her hair. “You walked on water. How did you do that? You’re not Jesus, are you?” She wiggles her eyebrows and smiles, but it’s still the weird kind. Like she’s stringing him along the way she did with the policeman. It’s painful.

“Can’t this wait?” Kakashi asks her. He’s already shown her more than he should, he needs to figure out where to draw the line before having this conversation. Besides, they have a lot of more urgent issues to clear up between them.

The grin fades away and he can see her cheek muscles tensing up. “It can,” she answers, “but I…” Her arms come up to wrap themselves around her torso as she stops walking and turns to Kakashi. After searching his eyes for a second, she looks down at their feet. “It’s just. This smell puts me in a place that’s really, really _not_ good, and I…” the breath she takes hitches. “When we get to the car, I need to be in a shape where I can drive us away from here, so I could use something to distract me until then. Okay?”

Kakashi watches her silently. He’s been thinking her weird behavior was somehow about him, that it was a testament to how little he knows her. It makes him feel stupid now. She did say –  way back when she convinced him to stay – that she was about ten seconds from a break-down, but at the time he’d been to full of himself to think much about it. He should have paid more attention. As he reaches out to touch her Hermione flinches away. Kakashi snatches his hand back and swallows, his throat thick and painful.

“Don’t be nice to me,” Hermione says, and her voice wobbles, “I’ll fall into pieces if you’re nice to me right now, and we need to get out of here. So please?”  

Yesterday, reaching out to her had been right. Today, it’s wrong. Kakashi has been a shinobi for long enough that he knows one set of actions doesn’t necessarily give the same results in all situations, but usually he can tell why. The outcome of a specific technique would depend on who he is fighting, what strengths and weaknesses they have, and what is happening around them. Knowing why Hermione reacts differently now is harder, but maybe it could be evaluated by the same parameters. Not that it matters, for the here and now. She’s stated what she wants, clearly.

“I believe you’re asking the wrong question,” Kakashi says, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging, “you can’t start with how I walk on water.” There’s a tremble to Hermione’s hand as she drags it across her hair, but her shoulders sink with her exhale and remains there.

“Yeah,” she answers as she starts towards the car, “why is that?” Her tone isn’t quite as normal as it pretends to be, but the small upwards twitch of her lips could be genuine.

“Because from what I’ve gathered so far,” Kakashi answers, “the use of magic and chakra are vastly different. You’ve implied the magics here affects your ability to cast spells, which makes me think being a witch means you’re a conductor for this magic that you speak about. Is that right?” Hermione agrees, her eyes wide as she stares at Kakashi. “That should in turn mean,” he continues, compiling his observations, “that for example, using magic doesn’t wear you out to any great extent. Since you are not the one supplying the power.” Hermione is nodding, slowly, a thoughtful crease between her eyebrows. “Chakra, on the other hand, is an internal energy. Every living human produces it to some extent. Shinobi however, can mold it and use it outside of our bodies.”

“Shinobi?” Hermione asks, and Kakashi realizes it’s a new term for her. Explaining it, he knows he’s made his choice when it comes to what to tell her. It might be brought on by a desperate need for distraction, and his inability to come up with something less revealing, but it’s an exchange he can’t regret. Because there’s a new kind of danger here that he didn’t know of, and teaching Hermione about chakra seems a fair deal if he can learn about magic from her. The details of Hermione’s life is still unclear, but from what little Kakashi knows he’s certain not all magic-users are the friendly kind.

.oOo.

Hermione has known Kakashi is intelligent. She has seen him pick up strategies and apply them to the boardgames they’ve played, and his remarks to her rambles are often thoughtful and relevant, if a bit uneducated. And maybe that’s it; most things they’ve discussed so far has been things Kakashi knows little about. Things like mental health, information validation, social justice issues and technology have clearly not been part of Kakashi’s life. Hermione has made the mistake of thinking that means he isn’t the academic type. That he’s strategic and smart but not a person who excels at abstract analytical thinking. Chakra theory, however, is clearly Kakashi’s area of expertise. Hearing him explain its uses and limitations, answering Hermione’s questions, and ask new things about magic in return, is intimidating in its sharpness.

She’s clearly been wrong about him.

None of Hermione’s friends are much for discussing the deeper layers of magical theory (apart from Luna but she is, well, Luna). Kakashi, while not able to cast a single charm or brew the simplest of potions, has grasped basic concepts about the nature of magic simply by watching Hermione in action and putting two and two together. Talking to him like this, having an analytical, logical conversation partner for abstract magical theory, should be a dream scenario. But instead of enjoying the subject, Hermione can feel it slipping away from her. There’s a fuzziness growing in her head that doesn’t allow for focused discussion. The smell is haunting her, and besides filling the air it also clings to her skin and hair and clothes in a way that means there will be no reprieve from it until she’s showered and changed.

They reach the car, Hermione throwing her backpack in the backseat haphazardly before realizing she’s on the passenger side. Great. That’s a good sign. Kakashi tells her something about different elements from the trunk where he’s digging through his bag, but his words hardly register. With a blank mind, Hermione rounds the car and settles in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard in front of her. To say that bad memories linger on the edge of her mind is an understatement; it’s more like it surrounds her thoughts completely. A single wayward step in any direction will put her there, so her mind shutting down could be considered a gift. If only she remembered how to drive.

Kakashi is silent as he slides into the seat next to her. Maybe he figured out that Hermione isn’t really listening to him anymore. He’s watching her now, an expression on his face that she thinks she should be able to decode. “I’m not being nice,” he says, “it’s a possible solution to a practical problem.” His tone is weird, flat and controlled in a way that penetrates the fog, but it’s meaning is lost on Hermione. She can’t make herself care enough to analyze it.

There’s a mask in his hand Hermione sees, a small piece of black cloth that spills out of his fingers as he holds it up. The question is asked only with his eyebrows, but she gets it anyway. “Thank you,” she says as she reaches out to take it. The fabric is light and slippery under her touch, the kind used for swimming or exercising, and Hermione wants to cry. Swallowing, she reminds herself that there are more cars arriving across the river. Media might be coming. She’s already been recognized once, it could happen again, and either way they might be interested in the first on scene, aiming cameras at them from afar. Having a breakdown in this fishbowl of windows is not a choice.

Intellectually, Hermione knows she’s dissociating. She should try to reconnect, ground herself in the here and now. Putting on the mask she focuses as well as she can on the light pressure over the bridge of her nose, the way it hugs her chin and throat and externalizes the tightness she feels as she breaths. It smells of Kakashi, she thinks, that indescribable scent of human that lingers on everybody’s skin in a slightly different way. Detachedly, Hermione wonders if he washes these in unscented laundry detergent or if it’s been worn enough that the perfume has faded.

There’s a limited window of time where she’s desensitized enough to the stench of smoke that the new sensory input trumps it, and Hermione knows she needs to put it to good use. If she was more present Hermione thinks the intimacy of breathing in Kakashi’s scent like this would hit her harder, but now it’s little more than a dull knowledge and a temporary distraction.

Clutch to the left, Hermione reminds herself, break in the middle, gas on the right. Okay, she can do this. She starts up some music and turns the key. The full two-hour drive home might prove too much, but at least she can get them out of here.

It works for fifteen minutes before Hermione’s stomach cramps up. She breaths through it, knowing she has another episode or two before urgently needing a bathroom. High levels of stress apparently still knock out her digestive system, even years after she started thinking she was fine. Being backhanded like this is unfair, she’s supposed to have worked through her triggers.

Not five minutes later she realizes that the smell of smoke has begun to penetrate the mask. The way it mingles with the sense of Kakashi is nauseating, so she pulls the fabric down from her face. She is cold, especially where her wet pants touch her skin, and the heated car seat doesn’t change that. Pain stabs through her stomach again, strong enough that she feels the chill of sweat breaking out on her forehead and sees her hands whitening around the steering wheel. There was a sign, not far back, about a guesthouse and she turns up their driveway. She needs a toilet, and a shower, and someplace to hide out for a while.

.oOo.

Kakashi gets them a twin room, the receptionist eyeing him curiously as she slides the key across the counter. Hermione stands two steps behind him, looking at a stand of brochures, with the mask pooling against her collarbones. No one has ever borrowed his masks before, or much of anything of his really. He has given stuff away without expecting them back, weapons mostly, but clothes feel personal in a way blades never do.

There had been a second, back in the car, when he very nearly changed his mind about the whole thing. He hadn’t been sure if he was being nice or foolish, and he wasn’t supposed to be the first and didn’t want to be the second. She’d been slipping away from him steadily throughout their conversation, however, and the vacant look had spurred him on. The sheen in her eyes and the way she compulsively swallowed as she donned the mask told him all he needed to know about why she didn’t want kindness. They had to get out of there after all.

The mask did seem to have make a difference, for a little while at least. It hadn’t been the smoothest ride, but they’d been moving and that was all that mattered. Car rides, Kakashi has found, are the perfect time to gather his thought. The tones of some instrumental music had filled the air around them, and it was acceptable to stare blankly out the windows in silence. It was the better version of sitting at home staring at the unchanging views outside.

He still doesn’t know what to think about it. Sometimes he comes close to relief, because he won’t have to watch himself around her anymore. Other times, the need to run is so overwhelming he physically holds on to whatever’s close by. He promised her he’d stay though, both back by the burning house with her fingers tight around his wrist, and just minutes ago outside this guesthouse. The shakiness had been back as she’d asked him not to be left alone, and Kakashi is still unsure whether that’s an improvement or not. He’d nodded, either way, and shinobi doesn’t go back on their words.

Besides, the only other option he can see is to go home and prematurely accept the Hokage hat, and that prospect is even more daunting than sorting out the aftermaths of this afternoon.

Hermione disappears into the bathroom once they reach their room. Kakashi wants to sink down on his bed, but given Hermione’s sensitivity to the smell residing in his clothes he refrains. He settles on the wooden floor instead, legs crossed beneath him. Not only was his chakra woefully unbalanced between physical and mental today, he can also use a clear mind if he’s to deal with any of this.

.oOo.

Sitting down on the floor of the shower doesn’t seem sanitary so Hermione crouches instead, hugging her knees to her chest. The stench of smoke has washed away, leaving her tired and with the tightness of anxiety compressing her lungs. She feels like part of the world again, albeit a very numb part. Wishing she could cry isn’t constructive, but she does it none the less. Wishes, that is, because no matter how she tries she can’t make the lump rise from her chest to her throat and tear ducts.

The heat slowly chases the cold away. Hermione studies her toes as she rocks herself back and forth, chin resting against her kneecaps. It’s like a universe on its own; her and the falling water in the small enclosed space. She can avoid thinking in here. Just breath in and out in sync with the rocking and feel the spray move across her back and shoulders. In another life Ron would have come in when she’d been sitting like this for long enough, making sure she was okay, but that’s not who they are anymore.

In the end it’s the insight that if she doesn’t stand up now she might never find the energy to do it, that gets Hermione to her feet. Her sense of time is messed up, but the skin on her fingers is pruney and the bathroom is filled with steam.

.oOo.

Kakashi’s hair is a nightmare to dry, so he carries a towel over his shoulders as he exits the bathroom. After the heavy humidity of the bathroom the cool air of their shared room feels like balm against his arms and shoulders. The combined mask and tank top he’s wearing isn’t clean, they were supposed to be home by now after all, but at least it doesn’t smell like fire.

Hermione’s seated on the bed against the bathroom wall. She has her comforter bundled up behind her and is hugging her pillow to her chest. Kakashi takes a seat on the edge of the bed under the window, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees. The tips of his hair have stared dripping and he uses a corner of the towel to squeeze out the water. He knows he should say something, but he has no idea where to start this conversation. Hermione would normally take the lead.

Things used to be easy between them, now it’s anything but.

No more than three feet of air separates them, but the silence makes it feel like a bottomless ravine. They watch each other across the distance. Hermione shivers and thugs lose an end of the comforter to wrap around her goosebumped arms. Kakashi thinks about offering the blanket he’s sitting on, but he doesn’t know if he’s still supposed to _not_ be nice. Yesterday he had believed he’d figured out the key for how to deal with these moments, but today is proving him wrong. Was it too much to get twenty-four hours feeling like he isn’t a monumental screw-up when it comes to feelings?

“So,” Hermione says, her eyebrows lifting. She places her cheek on top of the pillow.

“So,” Kakashi agrees and shrugs. There’s a miniscule twitch to the corners of Hermione’s mouth and for the first time in several hours he thinks they may stand a chance to be alright after all. His urge to run has been quelled by the meditation, allowing him to be more present here and now.

“Where do we even start?” Hermione’s voice is lacking its usual personality, like some part of her is left wherever it was she went earlier. Kakashi tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, she’ll come back.

“I have no idea,” he admits. Bending his neck forward to look at his socked feet allows Kakashi to scratch his neck. He sighs. Looking back up he realizes he does have a question to sort out before anything else. “This secrecy law,” he says, “will it give us any trouble? Is there anyone coming for either of us?”

The comforter over Hermione’s shoulders rustles as she shrugs. “Probably not,” she says. Her eyes find the nightstand between the two beds before coming back to Kakashi. “As long as that boy didn’t see anything we should be fine. Your powers should exclude you, and if they don’t there’s an exception for spouses.” The grin she gives him is crooked.

“Well, I’ve heard we are sleeping together.” Kakashi’s smile is more real, but he exaggerates it slightly and wiggles his eyebrows. It’s enough to raise the other corner of Hermione’s mouth. Her eyes, however, remains distant.

“Do we have anything to worry about on your end?” Hermione asks him. “I know you said you weren’t allowed to tell.”

“Nah,” Kakashi says, “I’ll sort it out when I get back home, I’m in a good position to get away with going outside the mission parameters.” Tsunade might yell at him, he knows, but there’s not much she’ll be able to do. He’s needed for Hokage.

“Aren’t the mission important though?” Hermione hesitates, and Kakashi can guess what will follow. “I mean you dad…” She looks away and draws her lower lip in between her teeth. He already knows the answer, of course, but can’t say he’s fond of the subject.

“Those who break the rules are scum,” Kakashi tells her, carefully pronouncing each word, “but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.” She turns back to him, her face a little softer, and nods. He lowers his head minutely in response.

“Well,” Hermione’s tone is light, “I wasn’t doing very well back there, was I?” This time her smile is the real deal, symmetrical and reaching all the way to her eyes.

“No,” Kakashi says dryly, happy for the sideways slide to another topic, “I was becoming a bit worried you might blow yourself up next. I mean, what did that riverbank ever do to you?” He raises an eyebrow.

Hermione’s huff of a laugh, small as it is, travels through Kakashi’s limbs easing aches he wasn’t aware he had. He wants _them_ back, the way they were yesterday. This tension between them is itching against his skin and turning his stomach heavy. The fear of loosing her has somehow become more acute than his aversion to situations like this. Having come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to run away, and that he wants them to get through this, is a kind of relief. It’s also frightening enough to make his heart stutter. In less than five months he’s needed back home, and his loyalty to Konoha will always come first.

“The things I’ve told you have been true,” Hermione says, “just… censored.” She leans her head back against the wall, sinking further into the comforter, and slowly fills her lungs. He can see her throat working as she swallows.

“Likewise,” Kakashi tells her. He wishes this was in any way made easier by his decision to stay. It isn’t. Trapping the sides of his tongue between his teeth Kakashi bites down far hard enough it almost hurts. If only he knew how to say things the right way.

“So, maybe we should start over?” Hermione says and lifts her head to look more fully at him. She blinks slowly and reaches up to rub her eyes. “I found out I was a witch when I was twelve and one of the teachers from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came to our house.”

Going back through their respective histories takes time. Kakashi explains again how to become a shinobi, how they make a living, and their place in society. A lot of it is things he’s mentioned over the last few hours, but he describes them with more depth and tries to keep a clearer narrative. He steers well clear of his own history however, and Hermione doesn’t pressure him for details on it. Hermione herself, on the other hand, adds a lot of missing pieces to her relationship with Harry and Ron, and the year they spent on the run.

When she mentions a troll Kakashi thinks she is using a metaphor. Then there’s a _dragon_ , and apparently his face is priceless. At least that’s what Hermione tells him when she’s stopped laughing. He can see the sparkle in her eyes as she goes on to tell him that unicorns and werewolves are real as well, along with a bunch of weird creatures Kakashi’s never heard of. Not until after the fact does he realize that daring her to prove it might have been a poor choice of words on his behalf, but he’s saved by Hermione saying she doesn’t have any ways to reach out to the Icelandic magical community. They’re awfully secluded, Kakashi is told. All in all, he doesn’t know what to believe.

Except for Voldemort. And her year on the run. He believes in those unwaveringly. An aching mass is growing in his chest as she tells him about the man who split his very soul into pieces, and how she and her friends went up against him. Hermione is supposed to be a civilian, she _is_ a civilian in too many ways. There had been no formal training for her and her friends, no knowledge of battle strategies, nor any more experienced soldiers to show them the way. They had just been thrusted into a violence they weren’t prepared for. Kakashi can hear her scars in her voice as she speaks about it. Can see them in the way she shivers and tries to draw more of her comforter around her as she tells him about spells designed to cause maximum pain without physical injury. He does offer her the one from his bed then, and she takes it with a smile that’s nothing more than a movement of her lips.

For Kakashi, who’s been raised into violence and bloodshed and death, fighting an enemy fair and square with the possibility of a fatal outcome is par for the course. Even so, there are things he’s done and losses he’s survived that’ll never leave him. Just this once, he might have preferred _not_ to understand the blankness that finds its way into Hermione’s face as she speaks about one final battle to stand up against evil. She shouldn’t know that feeling.

 “You know,” she says in the end, voice low and eyes turned away. “Most of my memories of the really bad stuff are hazy; Bellatrix’s torture, the battle itself. But there was a moment, there in the middle, that’s etched into my mind. Crystal clear. A few minutes when everything was quiet, and people where laying dead on the floors, and the air was heavy with blood and death and magical residue. I wish it was hazy, but it isn’t. And everything smelled of smoke from my robes.” She takes a trembling breath and leans her head back to look at the ceiling. “Today reminded me of that.”

Kakashi has no idea what to say. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat he rests his forehead on his palm and buries his fingers in his damp hair, tugging it lightly. He knows what she means when she says a moment is etched into her mind. Can’t help but think about when Haku stepped in front of his chidori, a mirror image of Rin so many years earlier. “Sorry,” he finally manages, “I just… Let’s say I know what you mean when you wish some things were hazy.” The chill of the room is creeping up on him, making him shiver, but he gave away his comforter and he’s not taking it back.

“Well,” Hermione says, “it took me years to accept the fact that I’m missing some pieces, so I guess it sucks either way.” In the silence Kakashi can hear the rustle of her moving. “I didn’t mean to trigger you too, if that’s what this is?” He shrugs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The laughter that escapes him isn’t joyous, nor is it lasting. “Do you actually have to ask?” He glances up to meet her eyes.

“Not really,” Hermione says, “but I want you to know you can, if you ever want to.” The words are soft, and her eyes unblinking as they catch Kakashi’s.

“Noted,” he tells her, “now can we move on?”

“Did you know, witch and wizards actually fly on brooms?” Hermione asks. Kakashi feels sure she’s messing with him again, but when he says as much he’s subjected to a recital of Hermione’s flying classes at school. It helps keep his thoughts occupied with its sheer ridiculousness. Unfortunately, it doesn’t ward off the drop in temperature.

Hermione calls him out on it, when he glances at his bag, wondering whether it’s rude to stand up in the middle of a conversation to get a sweater. “You’re cold,” she says, lifting one end of his comforter. “And, I don’t really feel like giving this back.” The invitation is clear. It’s also absurd; friends don’t get into bed with each other, especially friends of the opposite sex. They are both dressed, of course, but only in tank tops and pants, and… Hermione interrupts his thoughts; “I’m letting cold air in here.” She does something with her eyebrows, putting deep lines across her forehead and drawing one brow down over her eye. “I’m raising one of my eyebrows at you,” she interprets. Kakashi can’t help but smile, but he keeps it under his mask.

“No,” he says, “you’re not. If anything, you’re giving me more proof you’re deranged.” To prove his point, he raises one of his own brows. It’s a skill he’s spent time learning, and he intends to use it.

“Then maybe you should do what the madwoman says?” Hermione gives him a strict look to contradict her the laughter in her tone.

And Kakashi folds. It’s obviously the theme of this fucking day for him. He wants to say it’s the antidepressants that’s making him pliant, but he’s not quite able to convince himself of that. Maybe he’s just given up.

The nest Hermione’s built does look cozy – and isn’t that a word that Kakashi never thought he’d hear from himself. He’s a trained killer, amongst the feared elite of shinobi, he _doesn’t do_ cozy. Just like he doesn’t do hugs, a traitorous part of him whispers. But Hermione do. She probably thrives on cozy the way she does on hugs. He can suffer it for her. No one at home will ever find out either way.

.oOo.

Hermione almost feels bad as Kakashi slides into place next to her. He somehow manages to make the comforter behind them stretch out enough that he doesn’t touch her. Deliberately repositioning herself to close the gap Hermione feels brazen as she leans her head against his shoulder. The feeling of another human so close soothes her frayed nerves, even if Kakashi’s arm is cold and his shoulder bones dig into her cheek. For a moment she thinks he’s about to tense up, but as she’s about to draw back, he relaxes. There’s shift under Hermione’s head and the thump from something coming to rest against the wall.

“I’m sorry if I’m needy,” Hermione says. She knows he’s only stayed because of her, and while that warms her it also makes her feel guilty. He doesn’t have to sacrifice himself for her. “If you want to leave that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Her words come off as too casual, she thinks. She doesn’t want to drive him away. “I mean,” she corrects, “I prefer if you stay, but I won’t self-destruct if left alone, so you don’t need to feel like you have to do this.” It’s close to rambling, her anxiousness to make it right hindering more than helping.

“Maa,” Kakashi says, “haven’t we had this discussion before? You can’t keep me anywhere against my will.” He falls silent for a second, and Hermione sees his words in the light of this day. “Can you?” he adds.

“That depends,” she answers. In reality, she has no idea how he’d respond to spells could she cast them, or potions. “But I wouldn’t. I’m not interested in manipulating people to like me.” Kakashi only hums in response, the sound resonating in his ribcage and transferring into Hermione.

Breath, Hermione tells herself, out and in. You’ll be okay again, it won’t feel like this forever. The memories will fade, they have before. She just needs to get through this, find her way out on the other side. It’s not the first time she’s been triggered when she thought she was fine. The number to her psychologist is saved in her phone, she can call her tomorrow for a reminder-session. Her parents are always available, as are most of the people who fought alongside her at Hogwarts, she’d just prefer not to call them. She’s already feels terrible about sending Kakashi to whatever dark place he disappeared to, there’s no need to remind her other friends.

Exhaustion has spread throughout Hermione’s body ever since showering, but her heart beats with the rhythm of constant vigilance. It’s unreasonable, silly even, but she feels like she’s back in that god-forsaken tent, knowing it’s only a matter of time before someone catches them. Crying might help release some of the stress hormones, but she lacks the energy to do so. Instead she swallows and leans a little further into Kakashi’s solid presence.

“I’m scared,” she admits. The confession tenses her up, makes her want to curl up in a small ball and be held close. It also releases some of the pressure on her lungs. “I mean,” she continues, voice small, “I know it’s irrational to be more frightened today than yesterday, that it’s only the hypervigilance of having the PTSD triggered, but I can’t make it go away. I’m still scared.”

Kakashi hums, and by the sound of it he’s close to falling asleep. The day has taken a lot out of both of them. “But if you can’t use your magic,” he says, “surely they can’t use theirs?”

“They could bring regular weapons, like guns or knives, or potions.” She takes a breath, sits up straighter and wraps her arms around her knees. The wall over Kakashi’s bed has a badly fixed hole in it, the paint covering it a different shade of grey from the rest. “Or just, you know, pick me up and carry me away. I’m decent at magical defense, and shielding, and I can ward my living space if I can cast spells, but here I’m just a normal, defenseless, non-magical girl. What if they figure that out? They could just kick in the door and grab me.” She might not be very important on her own, but her relationship with Harry means the target on her back will never completely fade.

“Well,” Kakashi says, “what makes you think I’d let them?” His voice is complete confidence, like it hasn’t even occurred to him a bunch of people with guns could mean trouble. The sound of Kakashi’s hair against the wall makes Hermione suspect he’s turning to watch her. She means to speak, but her throat won’t cooperate. Would he really take a stand for her like that?

“You might not have a choice,” she manages. Kakashi laughs, the motion shaking Hermione.

“Magicless magicians with projectile weapons? They would be dead before they could step into this room.” He speaks of killing people like it’s a normal day at work and given his profession it probably is. _Mercenaries_ has been a word he’s used to describe shinobi, and Hermione hasn’t finished processing that alone. Figuring out how to feel about him killing people on her behalf is dizzying.

“How do you know?” Hermione asks. Because she wants to believe him, moral dilemma or not, wants to feel that absolute certainty that no one can get to her. But she was never one for blind trust. Staying focused on the opposite wall means Kakashi can only see part of her face, and Hermione closes her eyes and pulls her knees more firmly against the pillow she’s hugging.

“This room has only two existing entry points,” Kakashi immediately answers, “the door and the window. It’s possible to blow out a wall, but even if they did it doesn’t matter much. Given that they are trained professionals with knowledge of the room’s layout, they’d still need to locate you, and react on that information. That gives me a second, probably two. More if they’re civilians. Depending on the number of assailants and their exact positioning, those seconds could be enough to reach them with blades. That would be the easiest to get away with. If not, we are currently inside, and in a building that houses civilians, so I’d try to avoid fire, water or earth jutsus. I’m not an amateur. Lightning would probably serve me well, or possibly wind, but I’d have to move you out of the way before using anything with a wide range. That means the first second would go to creating a clone and get you out of here. After that, the clone would probably handle things easily, but either way we’d be standing safely somewhere up on the hillside. Should the clone be disposed of I could either send more or go back myself. They die. Problem fixed.”

Hermione opens her mouth. Closes it again. Okay. Should she feel more or less relaxed after hearing that? Kakashi had spoken calmly and without hesitating once, and this is his job, she knows that, but still. “Er,” she says, impressed against her will, “and you’d be able to analyze all of that, as well as acting, within that one second?”

Turning her head to look at Kakashi in the silence after her question, Hermione is met by a raised eyebrow and questioning folds across his forehead. “Yes,” he says. By his tone he thinks the question is ridiculous. Hermione blinks.

“Okay, that’s… wow,” she shakes her head. “Where were you ten years ago? We could have used someone who knew what they were doing.”

“Anbu Black Ops,” Kakashi says, his eyes moving as far away from Hermione as possible without turning his head. There’s a story there, Hermione thinks, but she bites back any questions. This aftenoon has had enough revelations.

“Well, I’m happy you’re here now.” Hermione takes the chance and shuffles a little closer, leaning more fully against Kakashi as she puts her head back on his shoulder. He’s a remorseless killer, who recently stated he’ll kill for her without hesitation, and self-disgust settles like a tumor in her chest. If she feels safe with him at her side, if his warmth against her skin and his scent in the air she breathes eases her hypervigilance, if this can feel good even after – or worse: _because of_ – everything she’s learnt about him; what does that say about her?  

Compared to the anxiety already festering inside her it makes surprisingly little difference. Today has already brought up enough blood and gore and death that some more hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. The same goes for questioning her own actions. Thinking of Kakashi at least spares her from wondering how things might have changed had she done this instead of that, and if less people could have died had she only… And no, she’s _not_ going back down that track. Back to the subject at hand.

In the end, it’s all theoretical exercises. Hermione knows Kakashi has killed, will probably kill again, but she can’t internalize that knowledge. She’s aware of the facts, but she can’t feel the truths. And it doesn’t help she knows she’s supposed to be the logical one.

As the stress hormones in Hermione’s system slowly recedes tiredness takes over. She feels like she’s been thrown into a tumble dryer for hours on end and she wants it to stop. Hemione longs for the nothingness of sleep, and a picture of Grumpy Cat pops up in her brain, telling her it’s like death without the commitment. She wouldn’t mind not living in this world for a little while. The moral ambiguity of enjoying Kakashi’s company and wanting him around won’t go away, and neither will her memories from the war, but she could at least escape them for a little while.

.oOo.

It’s not even six o’clock yet, and much too early to call it a night. They still need to deal with dinner, and the fact that they’re expected home in a few hours, but none of those things are urgent. Hermione sits closer to Kakashi than what should be possible without being on top of him, her legs drawn up and her toes dug in between Kakashi’s thigh and the mattress. Not long ago she’d been tense and scared, afraid someone might come for her. Now he can feel her breaths slowing and her body twitching as she falls asleep. The implied trust is shattering.

The day has drained Kakashi in more ways than one, and his weariness is bone deep. He never knew how relaxing it is to have someone sleep pressed up against him like this. It’s not really something that’s happened to him before. The hugs Hermione has given him had similar effects, but the sheer bonelessness of Hermione as she leans against him now is hard to elude. Their safety would not be jeopardized if he were to allow himself to drift off lightly. It hardly sets his reaction time back at all. Resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes Kakashi lets the rhythm of Hermione’s breathing drag him down into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to write this chapter for such a long time. It’s been impossibly hard and incredibly fun, and now it’s finally done. Please let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you all so much for your response on the last chapter! It made me incredibly happy and gave me a lot of motivation. Due to life I haven’t managed to respond to your comments individually yet, but I hope to get to it soon. In the meantime, know that I love you all and that you are my heroes who are helping me keep up with this.
> 
> As for this chapter, it took a lot longer than I had thought. Things sucked at worked to the point where I quit about two weeks ago, and since then I’ve been exhausted and resting up. I feel much better now, and have come back to writing, but it’s summer and I’ve got some travelling planned over the next few weeks, so we’ll see when I can update.

Hermione’s hand is stopped in the air, the fingers holding it loose but as unrelenting as a vice. The backlash of kinetic energy travels through her arm, threatening to put her out of balance, but Kakashi’s other hand is already at her shoulder steadying her. After the big reveal a few days ago she’d thought there’d be some kind of noticeable difference, that he wouldn’t bother to reign in the small things around her, but this is the first time she even gets a glimpse of his speed and strength since the fire. It’s restrained enough that if she hadn’t known, she’d written it off as good reflexes and hours working out.

Since they came home they’ve been left in a weird limbo between knowing each other well and not at all. Sometimes, everything’s been normal between them, with the addition of being able to discuss things like magical theory and how it differs from chakra. Other times, there’s a crevasse between them so deep Hermione can’t imagine reaching out over its edge. The frailty of the situation is eating her alive.

“You’re about to cut yourself,” Kakashi says as he releases her hand.

“Yeah?” Hermione turns to eye the glinting kunai between them, “why?” Annoyance shoots through her and she can hear its edges in her voice. He could at least explain himself if he’s going to startle her like that.

Kakashi raises an eyebrow at her and puts his hands in his pockets. “The angle of the kunai in your hand is wrong,” he says. “Combined with the position of your head you will most likely cut your cheek.”

“How do you know?” Kakashi’s other eyebrow joins the first and he dips his head forward to accentuate the look. Right. He doesn’t need to be so patronizing about it, just because she’s learnt more of what he can really do. There’s no difference Hermione can see between this would-be-throw and the last one. And the last one might have been a disaster performance-vice, but the only thing harmed had been her ego. It’s highly unfair she’s worse at throwing kunai the second time around. “So, what should I do instead?” she asks, her jaw taut around her words.

“Focus.” There’s a barb in the dryness of Kakashi’s answer, and it stings as it reaches Hermione.

“I _am_ focusing,” she says. The anger isn’t red, nor is it white-hot. It is clean; its transparency washing away the fog of worries and tiredness festering inside her. Kakashi being impossible is a problem she can deal with, as opposed to all the other disasters circling her.

“No, you’re not.” Kakashi’s eyebrows draw together. “You’re better than this.”

“What if I’m not, huh?” Hermione throws up her hands, the kunai still in a tight grip. She _has_ been trying, she really has, but apparently she’s not meeting his standards.

For a second nothing happens. Kakashi stares at her, and Hermione meets his look every step of the way. She will not be the first on to back down when he’s the unreasonable one. When he breaks the eye contact it’s not the way she expected. Moving his focus to the kunai he plucks it from her hand before she can react and walks over to collect the four she’s already thrown, stringing them back together.

“What are you doing?” she asks as he ties the cord off, “we’re practicing.”

“Not anymore, we’re not.” There’s a stiffness to Kakashi’s words, but he pushes his hands back into his pockets and shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He would scold Hermione for resting the blades against her leg like that, but different rules must apply to him. When he reaches Hermione’s side he doesn’t stop but keeps walking back toward the house.

“So, the second I can’t live up to your expectations you just leave? Is that what this is? I’m not good enough to waste time on?” Hermione is one step away from shouting, but she reigns it in. A cool sensation is spreading through her body, narrowing her eyes and clenching her fists. She wishes she could hex him. Show him she’s _not_ _useless_ , thank you very much.

Kakashi pauses and then turns around, face impassive. He blinks slowly. “No,” he says, “your skills are just fine. It’s your attitude I’m walking away from, because whatever this is? I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it.”

Watching the rigid lines of Kakashi’s shoulders as he makes his way back towards the house, Hermione grunts. He’s too scared to even have a fight with her, isn’t he? Probably because he knows she’s got a point. He was being completely unreasonable, butting in with unwanted advice and… oh.

Shit.

.oOo.

Kakashi hears Hermione call out to him, can tell she’s coming up behind him, but he doesn’t stop. He has no idea what just happened, and he has no particular wish to find out. All he’d done was stop her from injuring herself, and if this is the thanks he received she is not mature enough to handle sharp objects. He’d thought she’d liked throwing practice the first time they did it, but maybe he’d misunderstood.

“Wait,” Hermione says as she ducks around him to stand in his path, “just _wait_.” She holds her hands out, as if the gesture would somehow stop him from rounding her. Kakashi doesn’t sigh, he will not give her that, but keeps his expression neutral and meets her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says, her eyes wide. “Please just hear me out? I don’t want to make excuses, okay, but I want to explain, because you’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten angry, it was uncalled-for.” She takes a gulping breath to make up for the long string of words.

“It was.” Kakashi sidesteps her and continues on his way. He doesn’t need her explanation, he already knows. She’s been oscillating between drawing him in and pushing him away over the last few days, ever since she found out about him being a shinobi. He would have thought his lies would have been negated by her own, but clearly, she is upset with him. The refusal to acknowledge it must come from the fact that she needs him around to protect her.

As used as Kakashi is to be kept around because of his skills, it’s different when it’s Hermione doing it. Nauseating.

“You can’t just leave,” Hermione says behind him. Like he is the unreasonable one.

Tension settles over Kakashi’s shoulders and down his back, then spreads like a prickle down his arms. His entire body is poised and ready to move, but he bites down on his tongue to keep his cheek from visibly moving and turns slowly. Shinobi doesn’t show emotions. “I can,” he says, keeping his voice level, “and I will.” Hermione’s mouth falls open and she stares at Kakashi. He doesn’t care enough to try to differentiate whether it’s surprise, fear or anger she feels. It will not change the outcome either way.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her instead, “I’ll still keep you safe.” Because no matter how much Kakashi’s stomach aches from the reality of the situation, he knows he will continue to do his job. There is no world in which he will allow her to be hurt. Even if she no longer likes him.

“I… what?” Hermione’s eyebrows draw together and her head twitches back. She heard him, Kakashi knows she did, and this is not a conversation he’s having. He turns to walk away. “No,” the hand that lash out to grab his arm would be child’s play to avoid, and the grip it gets on his jacket can be broken without any effort. “No, no, no,” she repeats in quick succession. “Stop.” The words are harsh, cutting through the wind with force instead of precision. His unchecked response to her attempted physical restraint flitters past Kakashi’s mind as he squashes it. Hermione is lucky they’re not in the Elemental countries.

Raising an eyebrow Kakashi swallows down the boiling feeling inside him. He itches to fight, to do taijutsu sparring with Gai until every part of his body hurts and he tastes blood in his mouth. Not that will ever be a possibility again. He shifts his stare from Hermione’s eyes to the hand pretending it can hold him in place, and Hermine draws it back. There is nothing he can say.

“Is this about the magic?” Hermione asks as he moves to leave. Her voice has shrunk, and she sucks her lower lip in between her teeth. The charade is getting tiresome.

Shinobi doesn’t show emotion, Kakashi reminds himself. Over the space of an inhalation he makes sure he has it all under control; his shoulders and arms held casually, hands in pockets, jaw in place, forehead smooth, eyes relaxed. He blinks slowly. “No,” he says, but doesn’t offer anything else. He doesn’t want to see the lie painted on her face as she denies the truth.

For a second Hermione stands silent, lip caught between her teeth and eyes narrowed. The sun finds a crack in the clouds and lights up a part of the field behind her. Kakashi should walk away. Nothing is stopping him.

“I haven’t been my best self these last days, have I?” Hermione says, and it’s a trick question if Kakashi’s ever heard one. There is no way he will risk maneuvering through that minefield. Hermione glances at the cows grazing on the hillside. “I’m sorry,” she says as she turns back to him, “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” She rubs a hand over her mouth and chin, and Kakashi’s throat tightens.

Wasn’t he supposed to feel less like a mess by now? He doesn’t remember conversations ever being this physically painful before.

“Anxiety and stress just make me irritable, and that’s not and excuse, I’m not saying it is, but it’s an explanation. Okay? And I shouldn’t let it affect you, and I know it’s stupid of me, but half the time I can’t breathe right because I’m so anxious and the other half I’m terrified someone will come for me, and somewhere between those two I guess I fail at being a decent human being. Which makes it _worse_ , actually, because then I have to feel bad about that too.” Hermione shrugs and shakes her head, before looking first up at the sky then down on her feet.

“Logically,” she says, “I know what happened triggered my PTSD – that I thought I was done with by the way – and that it means I’m in fight or flight-mode, which by nature is a self-centered state because my brain is trying to ensure my survival. It’s just so fucking stupid it makes me push people away when I need them the most. Like being rude to you because I’m panicking because I’ll never get this kunai-thing right and I’m defenseless. And I know things is still a bit strange, and that we need to get to know whole new parts of each other’s lives, so it shouldn’t need to be a thing. I’m just way too tired to think straight, because I can’t sleep, because I’m way too tired to think straight, and isn’t that just hilarious?”

Hermione falls silent and Kakashi tries to wrap his mind around what she said. It was a lot, and not very easy to follow, but none of it seemed insincere. He doesn’t know what anxiety is, and he has never been indirectly frightened for his security, but he thinks he can relate to being angry and pushing people away. He had done that a lot, for a long time. And Hermione is right; they do have plenty left to process, both of them, and before they have things will feel different.

There is, however, one thing that doesn’t make sense to him. A practical, straightforward issue that lets him avoid figuring out how he feels about the rest of it. “It doesn’t matter that you are defenseless,” he tells her, “I’m not.”

The laugh that escapes Hermione is far from happy. Kakashi doesn’t know what he did wrong, but there’s a suspicious sheen in her eyes when she meets his gaze. “But you don’t like me when I’m like this,” she says, and her right hand comes to rest on her left elbow. “I don’t blame you, I don’t like myself very much at the moment.”

Talking to Hermione is a bit like fighting Tobi had been, back when he was still an unknown. Just as Kakashi thought he had things pinned down everything changed; weapons slipped through his target without leaving a mark and you never knew which direction the next attack would come from. A minute ago, Hermione was angry with him, then it _wasn’t_ about him, and now the problem is that _he_ doesn’t like _her_? With Kakashi still convinced she’s only staying for the sense of security it shouldn’t matter, but he finds it does. It matters a lot. He rubs his neck with the kunai-free hand and decides he’s had enough of all this pretense. Better rip the bandaid off all at once. “It’s you who don’t like me,” he says, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

“What?” Hermione’s question is so immediate and honest Kakashi can’t help but answer.

“It’s you who don’t like me,” he repeats as he shrugs. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s not like I’d let armed forces take my other neighbors.” Saying it feels like falling off the side of the Hokage mountain; not painful in itself, but with the ground rushing up to crush him. It makes it hard to breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ Kakashi,” Hermione says. It’s impossible to tell if she’s laughing or crying, the palms of her hands wet from where she’s pushed them into her eyes. Kakashi can’t move, not even to turn his face away before the awaited rejection. “You think I only want you around because of what you can do?” It’s not a bad thing, what she says, but it hits Kakashi like a kick over the ribs, knocking his wind out. He looks away but locks every other reaction down. A cow walks over to the waterfilled bathtub by the fence, her udder dangling with every step. Hermione always feels without inhibition, Kakashi thinks, she both cries and laughs easily, and for a second he wonders what that’s like. Everything inside him mostly feels hollow and sore.

“Shit,” Hermione says when it’s apparent he doesn’t plan to answer. “Fuck. Okay, that’s…” In the corner of his eye Kakashi sees her rub her face. “Sorry for the profanities, I’m just... Fuck.” She shakes her head. Kakashi’s chest remains paralyzed. “For your information: You’re wrong if you think that, okay? I like you, and I want to hang out with you, and that’s because of who you _are_ , not what you can do. Can you believe that?”

A nod is required, so Kakashi obliges. He’s not sure what to believe, or what to think. It feels like the whole world is spinning around him. Shinobi does not show emotions, but that is easy when his mind is this blank. She likes him, she says, but how is he supposed to _know_?

“For your information,” Hermione says, far away, “I could solve part of my problems by going back home to my heavily warded apartment where I can use magic to defend myself, but I’d rather not. It doesn’t matter that I might feel safe enough to sleep there. Because you are _here_.” There’s a pause Kakashi can’t interpret, and when Hermione starts speaking again it’s at a lower volume. “I’m really sorry I am fucked up enough to make such a mess of everything.”

Thinking about Hermione’s answer in its entirety is impossible. It echoes back and forth through Kakashi’s empty brain accompanied by too many failures. He latches on to the practicalities of the conversation instead, disassembles Hermione’s words to reach a problem he can understand. She can’t sleep, she said, and Kakashi knows from experience how that can spiral out of control. After... _No_ , he’s not going there. _Hermione_ is too worried about her safety to sleep, that’s the issue to focus on.

The memory of sliding in under the blanket next to her in the hotel room surfaces in Kakashi’s mind, and the ghost-sensation of her breathing slowing by his side. Turning to her now, he ignores the painful tightness in his chest. “You slept at the hotel, didn’t you?” he asks, and the question puts a confused wrinkle between Hermione’s eyebrows.

“Yes,” she says. Kakashi is grateful her answer is, for once, short enough not to derail the conversation.

“Because I was there?” The way Hermione’s mouth opens and closes as she tries to find an answer is all Kakashi needs to confirm his thesis. She still nods not a second later. “So, if I was around now, could you sleep?” He receives another nod. “Why not just ask?” Hermione blinks at the question, and Kakashi knows this is not the direction she predicted for this conversation. That makes two of them.

“Er,” she says, turning her face down and away but with her eyes still on Kakashi. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated?” She pushes her lips together and pulls them up enough to put creases on the bridge of her nose. “Or like I only wanted you around for your skills?”

Instead of laughing Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “And this is better?” he asks, motioning with his hand at the whole situation. Hermione smiles at his dry tone and his breathing becomes less forced.

“Well,” she says, “it’s not like you have monopoly on unnecessarily trying to deal on your own. I hate how we’re all taught to be strong and not burden others, but that doesn’t mean I’m raised differently.” She shrugs and makes a disarming gesture with her hands.

“Is that why you still haven’t asked me?” Kakashi can’t help but needle her. He knows she can read his smile through the mask. There are huge chunks of this conversation he hasn’t even begun to think about, that will take time to sink in, but right now he can pretend they don’t exist. In this moment things can feel normal, and he clings to that.

“Hatake Kakashi,” Hermione says with laughter in her voice and eyes, but an embarrassed tinge over her cheeks, “will you sleep in the unused master bedroom tonight?” A small courtesy follows the question, and Kakashi can understand the need to turn such a request into a joke. Some things are too serious to be treated as important.

“Maa,” he says, “I’ll take the couch.” There’s something private about other people’s bedrooms, and he doubts he’d be able to relax in the bed of a couple of strangers.

Hermione tries to change his mind, even offering her own bed to him while she takes the couch, but Kakashi refuses. He’s slept in far worse places in his life.

They split up for their afternoon chores not long after that, and before returning Kakashi picks up what he needs for the night. Sunna is practically leering when she catches him collecting his toothbrush, but he can’t make himself care much. It’s not like it matters what people here think.

Before bedtime there’s boardgames and tea as the sun sinks just below the mountains. There are no blinds in the living room, and Kakashi makes up the couch in the half-light while Hermione brushes her teeth. As he puts the cover on his borrowed duvet Hermione comes to stand in the doorway. She’s changed into the shorts and oversized t-shirt she wears for pajamas, and something in the way she holds herself makes her look devastatingly vulnerable.

“I could have done that,” she says as he shakes the duvet out and places it on the couch.

Kakashi shrugs. “I’m quite able to make my own bed,” he tells her, “it’s not very complicated.”

“Yeah.” She fiddles with her fingernails for a few moments before looking up at Kakashi. “Thank you,” she says, then clears her voice before continuing. “For this.”

“No problem,” Kakashi says automatically, only to feel stupid about his answer. However, it’s too late now to say something more personal. Fact is, he feels more at ease in Hermione’s house than he does at Heimstaðir, even if he’s sleeping on the couch and she is unstable and irritable. He wishes he knew how to tell her that.

Hermione smiles at him, small but sincere, and Kakashi imagines she can hear his thoughts. She scratches the back of her head. “Will you let me know?” she asks, “if I get insufferable? Because I’m trying not to take it out on you, but so far I think I’ve failed more than succeeded.” She looks out the window between them, but Kakashi nods none the less. He could have lost her today, all because of a string of stupid misunderstandings and failed communications.

“I’ll try,” Kakashi tells her. It’s all he can promise. “It did prove quite constructive today.” He folds his eyes into a smile, and it’s the real kind that reaches his lips. There might be hope for him after all.

“It did,” Hermione confirms. “I’m glad you called me out. Sometimes you’re too close to yourself to see what’s going on you know?” Kakashi thinks he does, so he nods. Hermione yawns and crosses her arms in front of her. “Either way,” she says, “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” Kakashi answers before grabbing his pillow and pillowcase.

Hermione ducks into her room, but Kakashi can see the door is left ajar from the ray of light cutting across the hallway floor. It doesn’t disappear as her bed creaks and her sheets rustle. Going to the bathroom Kakashi makes sure to keep his eyes in front of him, not wanting to be mistaken for spying. Despite having spent a night in a shared hotel room, he feels it’s not proper to sleep without a closed door between them. That one night had been an exception due to special circumstances, and apart from a nap in the afternoon they’d both kept strictly to their respective sides. Yet, if nations can declare states of emergency to step away from their laws, maybe it’s not such a big deal for this exception to last a few more days.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter already! This one is short, and the next one will be even shorter, but they can both stand on their own, so I figured I might as well post them separately and give you all something to read. I hope to have the next one up in the first half of next week, before I go travelling. In the meantime, I'd love to hear what you think!

Having Kakashi around makes things better, but better doesn’t necessarily mean _good_. The fear and anxiety are easier to live with when Hermione’s not alone, when she can tell herself that Kakashi is right there if anything happens, but they don’t go away. The first night she gets up twice to check that Kakashi is still there. Both times he opens a single eye to look at her, and she apologizes and slinks back to her room. She never meant to wake him, and while his awareness is reassuring it also means she forces herself to remain in bed the following nights. What sleep she gets is filled with dreams she can’t remember, but which leave her with a bad taste in her mouth and a tight, itchy feeling crawling across her skin when she wakes.

She calls her therapist, because while she knows ‘there’s no way out but through’ she wants to hear it from someone else. She needs Linda to tell her there is an end to all this, that she’s done it before and can do it again. That there will come a time when she feels safe again.

“Do you have someone there who you can talk to?” Linda asks her, and Hermione looks out the window, catches a glimpse of sliver-white hair and a figure running across the mountainside. “Good,” Linda says after Hermione confirms, “then talk to him. Let him help you. And remember it’s okay to feel what you are feeling, it’s perfectly normal that this happens, and you can get through it. Alright?”

Hermione’s throat stocks up, and she’s crying as she tells Linda about taking it out on Kakashi. After years of sessions with the woman Hermione can hear the kind smile in her voice as she reassures her. Kakashi did the healthy thing and confronted her, and that’s a good sign, Linda says. It’s enough to stop Hermione crying for several seconds, because he did, didn’t he? He didn’t simply leave her behind and move on. It had been a roundabout discussion, but they’d gotten there in the end. He’d done _that_ , for _her_ , even when she was rude to him, and the realization opens the floodgates once more. Merlin, she’s a mess, isn’t she? But maybe that’s okay, for a while.

Over a week passes, and Hermione starts to believe she’s getting the hang of it. Spurred on by Linda’s advice Hermione tells Kakashi when it’s bad and asks for hugs when she really needs them. She doesn’t want to impose too much, however, because Kakashi is not the touchy-feely kind and he is doing a lot as it is. Not only is he helping her with kunai practice; when she confesses to fearing getting grabbed, Kakashi takes it upon himself to show her how to break holds and manipulate joints. Small things only, because Hermione will never be one for close combat, but enough that she feels she’d stand a chance against someone stronger than her.

It feels a bit like cheating, dealing with her insecurity by learning to fight, but Linda tells her she’s allowed to cheat.

Good moments start to trickle back in over the days. Amazing moments. Set in stark contrast by the darkness around them. Like when she stands in the sunshine and cheers for her first bullseye with the kunai, and Kakashi smiles at her before ordering her further away from the target. Or when she gets so caught up in discussions about magic and chakra she forgets everything else. It was a long time since she had intellectual fun the way she can with Kakashi when the subject is right.

Things do get better overall as well, with a little time. Hermione laughs easier, sleeps better, and begins to relax ever so slightly. Maybe she should have seen the backlash coming, but she doesn’t. Instead, she falls asleep after an evening of tea and reading and wakes a few hours later with bile on the back of her tongue, cold and shaking. She can’t remember the dream, only that there were ash and blood in the air, and that she failed. A picture of Kakashi flash by, crumpled on the floor, and the echo of his voice blaming her. Hermione can’t breathe.

The sheets are crushing her, and she pushes them away, fights her way to her feet. She has to check on Kakashi, because it might have been a dream, but she needs to know for sure. Either way, she needs to save him. Three steps to get to the door. Breathe. Five steps down the hallway. Everything inside Hermione is tight and frozen, and her pulse resonates in her fingertips as she trails them along the wall.

Kakashi must see something on her face, because as she stops in the doorway he sits up, faster than any regular human. The windows are behind him, but the room is light enough she can see the tension on his face. “What’s wrong?” he says, already at his feet.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, foregoing his question for the more important one. Her voice comes out raspy and twisted, and she forces down a breath deep enough to allow her to cough. Kakashi pauses a few feet from her, the glint of a blade in his hand. He cocks his head.

“Yes,” he says, “why…” The question is cut short and something in his face softens.

“You have to go.” It comes out as a sob, and Hermione hugs herself. She must continue however, no matter how painful speaking is. It’s important. “You _can’t_ be here. Get away from me. They will kill you.”

For a second, she thinks he will comply. Kakashi stands stock still, silent, watching. His eyes narrow the way they do when he’s trying to figure her out, then he reaches out and places the blade on a sideboard. He steps towards the door, but as he does his eyes aren’t on the exit. They’re on Hermione.

She looks away.

Kakashi doesn’t stop. She sees it from the corner of her eye and feels the displacement of air as he moves into her personal space. Without visible hesitation arms wrap around her, soft but unyielding. It’s always been Hermione who has initiated physical contact, but Kakashi pulls her in now, draws them together from knees to shoulder, close and warm and safe. She gives herself a moment. Puts her arms around his waist and rests her forehead against his collarbone. She’s crying too hard to speak anyway.

“You can’t do this,” she tells his shoulder when she has calmed enough she feels confident in her voice again. “I won’t let you. _You could die_.”

She should push him away but can’t make herself. Under her eyes, tears have soaked thorough Kakashi’s combined tank-top and mask, and she thinks it must be cold and sticky against his skin. As if she doesn’t have enough to feel bad about, waking him in the middle of the night like this. He hums, the sound reverberating through her ribcage.

“I _will_ die,” he says. “Everybody dies. But I doubt this is how it happens.” He speaks so calmly it turns Hermione’s stomach

“What if it is though?” she challenges. Despite her sore throat and malfunctioning lungs, she manages to put steel in her voice. “You can’t take that risk. _I_ can’t take that risk. I can’t have you risk your life for me.” She’s repeating herself, she realizes, but she can’t bring herself to care. The point is important enough it can stand repeating. The thought of him stepping between Hermione and a loaded gun makes her want to throw up. It can’t be allowed to happen.

“Hm,” Kakashi says. “Well, it’s my life to risk, so I’m afraid you don’t have much say in the matter.”

“You _can’t_.” Hermione can hear she lost what power she had and is left sounding like a petulant child.

“I can,” Kakashi tells her, “and I will. I’ve risked my life for my village and my friends since I was five, and I’m not about to stop now.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he cuts her off, a sharpness in his tone that quiets Hermione instantly. “It’s not your choice to make.”

Hermione’s nose is clogged up and she breathes in the salt of tears on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she tries to absorb some of Kakashi’s strength. “Okay,” she finally says, her voice hardly carrying. He made it clear it’s not up for discussion, and she can’t find the will to fight. If it ever comes to it, she will simply have to make sure to be the one to go.

Outside the window the sun is about to rise. A desperate need to blow her nose is overtaking Hermione, but she’s afraid to end the hug. It feels like Kakashi’s arms is the only thing holding her up, and if she leaves now he might go back to bed and this will be lost. Carefully dislodging one arm she wipes her face inside the neckline of her t-shirt instead. It’s not enough, not really, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about smearing snot on Kakashi. He hugged her, this time, and that matters. It changes everything, not having to wonder if it’s simply a concession to avoid the awkwardness of turning her down.

As the tranquility of the hug loosens Hermione’s limbs and slows her pulse she occupies her mind with the exchange. It’s impossible to figure out how Kakashi can be so calm about his possible demise. She understands he’s been living with the idea for a long time, but…

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?” she gives in and asks. Drying tears are itching on her cheeks.

A small shift makes her think Kakashi dipped his head forward, and she can feel how his breathing gets more measured. The silence stretches to the point where she doesn’t think he’ll answer at all. “No,” he says softly. It’s only the beginning of a long string, and Hermione aches to thug it and see where it leads, but she doesn’t. She draws him in a little closer instead, lets the scent of him find the unclogged passages in her nose.

“Do I have to worry about that?” She trusts him to understand the question.

He huffs before answering. “No,” he says, and his tone is certain enough to put her at ease. “The only thing you have to worry about is us getting more sleep before we need to get up.” A finger taps against Hermione’s shoulder blade and she sighs.

“Is it okay if I take one of the armchairs,” she asks as she breaks the hug. “I’d rather not be alone.” Heat rises to her face and she looks away.

“Take the couch,” Kakashi offers, “I can sleep on the floor.”

Hermione can’t help but snort and push his shoulder. “Don’t be a self-sacrificing asshole,” she says.

Kakashi raises an eyebrow before he speaks. “I prefer gentleman.” The words are as dry as dust.

“Haven’t you heard?” she questions.” Those fell out of fashion years ago.” Before he can answer Hermione walks away to collect her comforter and pillow. She can’t quite smile, not yet, but she can feel her facial muscles relaxing.

Pulling the two armchairs together Hermione creates a nest for herself. She curls up in it, wrapped in her comforter, and it’s not bad. Short, and her back will punish her for that tomorrow, but better than her bed in an empty room. Inside her, the tsunami of emotions has withdrawn, but a chaotic sense of dread remains. Kakashi might die for her, and there’s nothing she can do to change that. Save making him hate her and thus leave, but that is unthinkable. She closes her eyes and focus on breathing. There is no sound from Kakashi, but he is right there if she opens her eyes.

.oOo.

Kakashi lies awake for a long time. There’s a warm fuzziness inside him, and he doesn’t want to fall asleep and risk losing it. He wants to remain like this for as long as possible. He’s turned towards the backrest of the couch, hiding his face even if his eyes are closed. Behind him he can hear Hermione’s breathing slow into the rhythm of sleep.

For once, he did things right. Without needing to be told what to do. It hadn’t even been hard once he figured out what was going on. Hugging her has become a gut reaction by now, but normally he lets her ask for it, not wanting to impose. Tonight, overstepping on whatever rules apply to friends hugging each other without consent had seemed less important. And it hadn’t turned out wrong. He’d even managed to respond to her ridiculous, nightmare-induced ideas about him being better off without her. Like he’d be unaware of the possible consequences of every mission. Kakashi knows he might not die from old age, but he also knows he could never live with letting more friends die in his place. Not if there is anything he can do to stop it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My vacation got delayed a few days, so here is another chapter before I leave. This one is very short, but the next one should be longer. During my travels I should have internet on my phone, and while I can’t write I hope to be answering comments. No promises though, because I’m going to Lofoten in Norway, and cell coverage might be spotty and the views too good to look away from.
> 
> \---
> 
> For AiHuiyuan and jossiemcg, for your endless supply of inspiration.  
> 

Kakashi’s been sleeping on Hermione’s couch for more than two weeks, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. They’re on their way back from town after Kakashi’s therapy, and Jón keeps asking him how he _feels_ about things. Apparently, all the different ways Kakashi’s body aches and tightens and burns have different names. Apparently, he’s perfectly able to feel anger and sadness, disappointment and betrayal, care and compassion. He just never identifies or acts on them, and for some reason Jón seem to think he should. At least identify them. It’s exhausting, and so far mostly makes things worse. Ignoring things are easier when they are merely physical sensations.

Hermione is talking about something she read in the newspaper, but Kakashi isn’t really listening. He’s still reeling from Jón’s suggestion of homework. It´s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard in a long time.

“You’re awfully silent today,” Hermione says after a while. Kakashi thinks about pointing out that he’s never been chatty, it can hardly surprise her now. Instead, he decides to answer the unasked question. It is rather hilarious after all.

“I believe I’m in shock,” he says. “My therapist thought it was a good idea for me to ‘ _express myself creatively’_. He suggested I ‘ _process my experiences_ _as a_ _special-ops soldier’_ by writing, painting or making music.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I can ever go back there,” he tells her.

The bubbly feeling brought forth by Hermione’s laugh is at least one he never needed help to translate. A smile finds it way to Kakashi’s lips, but he hides it and widens his eyes dramatically when she glances at him. “Why not?” she says, focused again on the road. “I could probably find you a cheap flute or something, and I’m sure we’d all love to hear your interpretations of shinobi life. It sounds just like you.”

“I think I prefer the violin,” Kakashi answers dryly. “and I’ve heard five o’clock in the morning is an excellent time to learn a new instrument.” It’s what she deserves for her attitude.

“Go for it, I can survive anything for art,” Hermione says, but she fails to keep her face straight. “What did you even say when he came up with that suggestion?”

“Eh,” Kakashi rubs his neck, “I don’t really remember?” The comment is met with more laughter.

“So, nothing? You just stared at him?” She glances at Kakashi and he shrugs helplessly.

“It’s possible, yes,” he admits. “I mean, how did he ever come to that conclusion?”

“I honestly have no idea.” She shrugs before maneuvering the car through a sharp turn. “Although you _could_ paint me a picture of Konoha, since you have no photographs. I’ve made you sit through at slideshow of my friends, I think I deserve some payback.” Kakashi remembers the slideshow well, Hermione had gotten a little carried away. At least he can now put faces to her parents, Ron, Harry, and Ginny when Hermione mentions them.

“Maa,” he answers, “I’m not sure it’s fair you get what you want twice in a row like that. You might have misunderstood how payback works.” Hermione pouts at the road in front of them, but the lines around her eyes is a smile as clear as any.

“Pleeeease,” she whines, and Kakashi can’t withstand the perfect chance. He has a golden opportunity to rile her up here, and it has a good chance of turning out hilarious. It’s her fault anyway, she started it. And it’s far better payback than any picture.

“Maybe I could paint Konoha,” he says lazily, “It should be easy. It’s mostly a huge hole in the ground.”

Hermione’s head whips to him so fast Kakashi thinks she might wake with a sore neck tomorrow. He gets a perfect view of her eyes nearly bulging out of her head and her mouth a stylish o before she snaps back to the road. “It’s _what_?” Her voice is shrill and much too loud in the small space. Kakashi can’t help but smirk.

“You heard me,” he says, fully aware what effect his placidness will have. He was right before, this is hilarious. Maybe he should share things with her more often.

“I did, but I’m going to need you to give me a little more than that.” Hermione keeps glancing at him, still wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Her voice is well on its way to normal, but there is a solution to that.

“There was an attack.” Kakashi keeps his tone impassive and shrugs. This is all old news to him after all. “I technically died for a while,” he continues, “the town was turned into a huge crater, but Naruto turned up and made Nagato take all the deaths back. So, we only lost the town.”

“That’s… I… _what_?” Hermione sounds suspiciously faint and she reaches up to rub her left ear.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kakashi gives her a beaming smile, making sure she sees it before he continues. “No one died permanently, and Konoha is being rebuilt, it just got delayed by the war.”

“War?!” Like intended Hermione’s voice goes up at least an octave and she’s throwing Kakashi narrower looks now. “When was this?”

“Last year.”

“Last year?” she repeats. “All of it?”

Kakashi shrugs. “It was a long year.” He doesn’t mention she only knows half of it. There’s no need to destroy this beautiful buzz.

“Merlin Kakashi, you can’t spring these things on me like this. I’m _driving_.” Hermione’s fingers flex around the steering wheel.

“But it’s fun.” Kakashi leans back, crossing his hands behind his head. “And we’re still on the road.”

“Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say.” A glare is sent Kakashi’s way. “Just so you know, I’m going to hit you the moment I park this car.” Hermione isn’t honestly angry, Kakashi knows. If she was she’d never stick her tongue out at him.

“Hn,” he raises an eyebrow. “Good luck with that.” She huffs.

She does try to hit him when they get home, but Kakashi dances out of her way without effort. There’s some serious muttering about unfair advantages that Kakashi pays no heed to, but maybe he should have accounted for Hermione’s stubbornness before riling her up. Hours later, she “accidently” spills a whole glass of water over him, playing innocent like the best of them. It’s incredibly annoying not to be allowed to move fast enough to avoid it, but he’ll find a way to make up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @jossiemcg, who’s idea the painting thing was: It didn’t turn out quite the way you wanted, but Kakashi rebelled. I blame everything on him!


	21. Chapter 21

“I won’t look you know.”

Kakashi lets his head fall to the side. Hermione’s only a meter away, clearly visible despite the tall grass reaching up between them. She is turned to the blue sky, her eyes closed, and the lines of her face as soft as her tone. “You’re making no sense,” he says, and the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

“I’m telling you my eyes are closed, and I won’t peek. So, if you wanted to pull that mask down and get some sun on your face, no one would know.”

Instead of answering Kakashi shuffles to avoid whatever is digging into his shoulder blade. He can’t remember the last time he felt sunshine on his unhenged face. It might as well be forever.

They are alone up here, over the crest of the mountain range above their houses, and completely hidden from the eyes down in the main valley. Down by the natural pond – where Hermione bathed her feet earlier, splashing water at Kakashi and calling him boring for not joining her – an ewe and her lambs are grazing. They are actual sheep, Kakashi knows, because he checked. It’s not like he had much else to do, and the feel of the animals has become second nature to him after so much time with them. There could of course be a sheep-farmer shinobi who specializes in henges, but Kakashi doesn’t think so.

It’s been a good day. The kind of day that makes Kakashi feel soft inside. The mountainside had been a steady upwards slope with Ingo’s direction, sheep spread out around them. In the parts that were moist but steady enough to carry their weight, the grass had been in bloom with hundreds of white wool tufts. There’s such a field below them now, around the pond, but just a few meters higher they found ground dry enough for a lunch-spot. No one else is here, the open landscape provides no hidden vantage-points, and Hermione isn’t looking. What’s to stop him?

Reaching up, Kakashi thugs the mask down. The way his heart speeds up and his fingers tense with the motion come as a surprise. Hermione hasn’t moved when he glances her way, and her eyes remains closed. Kakashi forces down a deep breath and releases it slowly. Okay. He can do this. There’s no way he’s backing down now.

Once the temporary discomfort settles down, it’s pleasant to air out the heat and sweat trapped under the mask. The Icelandic summer lacks the humidity Kakashi is used to at home, making the soft fingers of the wind feel like a caress over sun-warm skin. Above him grass panicles swing lazily in the wind, framing the sky. 

Nothing hurts. There’s a content, relaxed feeling spreading through Kakashi’s limbs, one that he doesn’t dare try to name, and he wonders if this is how others feel. If this is how it’s _supposed_ to be in the good moments. For a long time, Kakashi has lived with the certainty that ‘feeling good’ is when the pain recedes to nothing more than a deep bruise that can be ignored. But right now, _nothing_ hurts. Maybe he had felt this way, back before his father died, but that is over twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years of that hollow ache in his chest Kakashi thought was supposed to be there.

He is drugged, a voice in the back of Kakashi’s mind whispers, but he finds he doesn’t care. Apart from the setback in the first weeks he hasn’t had any troubling side-effects of the anti-depressants; his mind works the way he’s used to, and his chakra-flow is fine. He hasn’t tested his reflexes, can’t while on this mission, but he thinks he could fight as usual. Which bring up an unbidden question, one Kakashi would prefer never to have asked himself. Because, what if this was all that was needed?

What if someone had forced him to start medicating years ago?

_What if he could have had moments like this all along?_

It starts in his throat, a burning trail that finds its way down to his chest and stomach. Kakashi swallows against the tightness and wonders if this is how his father felt when he died. First a rare moment of perfect serenity and then a spreading pain, strong enough to make him want to curl up on his side. Kakashi doesn’t. Hermione would hear him moving.

Fighting down his impulses Kakashi keeps his breathing even, despite the resistance in his lung. There can’t be a sound, not a hitch to his breath, or Hermione will know. The chill of wetness draws his attention to the fact that tears are finding their way across his temples to pool in his ears. He wants to wipe them away, but that requires moving. This is ridiculous, he tells himself, this is supposed to be a good moment. The second of inattention to his breathing makes his lungs convulse, but Kakashi swallows it down. Buries his fingers in the cold dirt under the grass. He needs to get himself under control. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter, Kakashi tells himself; maybe he needed Hermione, maybe Jón makes more difference than it seems. But it fails to appease him. He can’t help but wonder who he’d be now if his dad had lived. Or if he’d been saved from himself afterwards. If there hadn’t been a cold empty hole in his chest where his dad used to be, would he have listened to Obito sooner? And even if everything had played out the same, could he have connected with the world enough to be there for Minato’s son? Maybe even reach out to Sasuke, after Kakashi was the only one left carrying his clan’s kekkei genkai? Could he have been a better candidate for Hokage now, who stood a chance to do right by the village?

He almost makes it. The tears have tapered down, practically stopped, by the time Hermione stirs. “I’m about to fall asleep,” she says. Her words are blurred around the edges and her voice rough. She coughs once. “So, I’m going to open my eyes in about ten seconds.” In the corner of his eye Kakashi can see her stretching her arms over her head. His insides freeze and breathing once again becomes impossible. “Since you’re not answering I’ll take it as an okay,” Hermione continues.

The mask reaches far enough to wipe his face on, even if the thin fabric mostly spreads the tear tracks out instead of absorbing them. Kakashi sits up, strategically hiding his face from Hermione’s eyes before they open. With the sun heating the mask Kakashi knows it’s Hermione’s gaze that burns against his back. He maintains his relaxed pose, however, with crossed arms resting on drawn-up knees. You are fine, he tells himself, don’t be ridiculous. Tear alone doesn’t even count as crying, does it?

In the silence Kakashi hears clearly when Hermione sits up and shuffles forward to settle next to him. He looks away. “Are you okay?” Hermione asks, her voice low. Kakashi quells the spasm travelling up his chest by not breathing. He’ll get bruises on the skin under his fingertips, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t show through his clothes. He wonders what gave him away.

“It wouldn't be strange if you were, I don’t know, sad?” Hermione continues when it’s clear he doesn’t intend to answer. Behind him Kakashi can feel her hand approaching, and he shifts slightly to avoid it. Breathing is hard enough without the added weight. The hand freezes in the air a second before retracting.

“I'm not sad.” Kakashi clarifies, his voice coming out smoother than expected, sharpened. He really isn’t. “Everything is fine,” he adds. Or it _was_ , at least, and who’s counting minutes? It’s not like he has any reason to feel worse now than he did before.

Silence falls. Kakashi thought it would be preferable, but it isn’t. It reaches insides him and swallows him whole at the same time. He wants to lay his head down on his arms but can’t allow himself the luxury. For all of a second, he wishes for a distraction, before Hermione speaks and ruins it. “It’s alright if it isn’t, you know,” she tells him.

Which proves how little she knows.

“No,” he can’t help but say, because even that is better than going back so silence. “It’s not.” His voice sounds like barbed wire, but it’s annoyance, nothing else.

“It really is,” Hermione answers, still with that soft tone that is worse than screaming. Kakashi gets that she’s disappointed in him. It isn’t very helpful. “I'm both sad and angsty a lot,” Hermione continues. “Why would it be different for you?”

It’s not strange she doesn’t understand. Can’t, given that he hasn’t told her. He takes a breath; closes his eyes. She can’t see them either way. “Shinobi doesn't do emotions,” Kakashi says, “or tears.”

“What?” The change in Hermione couldn’t be clearer if she was standing right in front of Kakashi. She’s obviously upset now. And isn’t this exactly why he’s been avoiding telling her?

“It's a rule,” he explains, careful to keep his voice level even as his insides are boiling. “Rule 25; a shinobi must never be ruled by emotion, and they must have the strength no never show their tears. So, yes, there is a difference.”

Behind him, Kakashi hears Hermione draw a long breath through her nose. It wheezes. “I’m sorry,” she sounds strangled, “but that’s a really stupid rule.” The air by the shoulder where Hermione sits is practically vibrating. She’s a civilian, however, and quick to judge at that.

Kakashi wants to stare her down, but his eyes still feel stingy and swollen. He forces himself to speak instead, calmly. “You shouldn’t criticize what you don’t…”

“ _What_?” Hermione cuts him off. “What I don’t _understand_? Because I’m not an idiot. I _do_ know that in a life-or-death situation you can’t break down. I _do_ know that anger at the wrong moment gets you killed. I’m aware of what battle is. But your rule doesn’t state that you should keep it together _during missions_ , which would be fair. It says _never_.”

There’s a lot in Hermione’s outburst that Kakashi intends to leave unanswered, but one major fault needs to be addressed. “I am on a mission,” he reminds her.

“Oh, come on,” she says, the words the crack of a whip, “seriously? We both know there’s really no mission here. Not in that sense. There never where.”

Her words make Kakashi’s head buzz with emptiness. He swallows. It’s not that what she is saying is news, but he’s managed to _not_ think about that for a while. Everything inside him is burning and shrinking from the heat. He should argue with her. Let her know it’s not either of their places to question the Hokage’s orders. Instead, he swallows again and stands up. He might not be allowed to shunshin, but he can walk away.

Hermione is between Kakashi and the way home. He wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and hide under the blanket, but that option is out. With the way his ribcage seems to have imploded in a painful mess, avoiding Hermione by taking the long way around the crests in front of him feels impossible. Yet facing Hermione is worse. Even if there are no tear tracks left Kakashi doubts he can keep his face neutral. Nausea rises in his throat and he can’t stop swallowing, again and again.

He stops when he gets to the pond, wishing he could continue out over the water where Hermione can’t possibly follow. Mission parameters are just that, however, no matter Tsunade’s reasons for wanting him out of the village. Shinobi follow their commander’s instructions. Without question.

.oOo.

Hermione watches Kakashi’s back as he walks away. She kneads her eyebrows with pressure enough to hurt, then pushes her thumbs against her eyes. If she could just be less of herself, things like this wouldn’t continue to happen. She might have snapped, a little bit, faced by those ridiculous rules, and that was not good. Very not good. The reasoning had just been so stupid, and she knows Kakashi is far from that. It had been easy to forget with everything lately, that it doesn’t matter if he’d handled her crisis alright. He can still deny his own feelings. Apparently he was raised to, and isn’t that insight a punch to Hermione’s abdomen?

It does explain a lot though.

Wrapping her arms around herself Hermione wonders what’s on Kakashi’s face. The stiffness over his shoulders now, and the carefully controlled breathing as he sat next to her, tells their story, but without his facial expression a vital piece is missing. Speculation is more than likely to send her astray but refraining from it is impossible. Biting the inside of her lip, she wishes he’d accept hugs. He sure looks like he needs one.

Kakashi stops by the pond, and Hermione gives him a few minutes before she stands. She makes her way to him slowly, giving him the decision to stay or leave. There’s a messy nest of feelings in her stomach, weighting her down, but she’s got things she needs to apologize for.

The fact that he remains in place until she stops a step behind his shoulder is intimidating in its gravity. She isn’t capable of handling situations this delicate. Is too pushy, and opinionated, and overbearing. She draws a breath, deep and slow. “I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice at least doesn’t betray her. “The thing about the mission came out wrong.” She’s been thinking about it on her way here, and that comment was a clear transgression on her part. It seems like a fair place to start.

“But not the rest?” Kakashi’s voice is as unmoveable as his back. It tells Hermione nothing at all and everything she needs to know. She takes a moment to formulate an answer that is truthful but hopefully not overly offensive. 

“It wasn’t my finest delivery,” she admits, “but I stand by my words. I mean, it’s in the rule itself even; a shinobi must never _show_ their tears. Like, you’re all expected to cry, but you should pretend you don’t.” In the silence that follows her words Hermione can hear her own heartbeat. She swallows around the tightness in her chest and digs her fingernails into the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. It stings. Kakashi is close enough to touch, but she doesn’t dare try it again.

“Please talk to me,” Hermione says when the lack of sound grows too loud in her ears. She knows how to deal with people who scream, cry, or laugh when things get too much, but silence was never her strength.

“Why?” Kakashi asks, and there’s something hard in his tone. A core of stone beneath the blank surface.

“Because,” Hermione hesitates for a second. She’s not sure an honest answer will help the situation, but at the same time she can’t keep it inside. “From where I’m standing, you are falling into pieces.” The words feel like they pass her throat sideways, too big to really fit, but they come out sounding surprisingly normal. Hermione catches her tongue between her teeth and wraps her arms around herself.

“You are delusional,” Kakashi answers. “Everything’s good.” Hermione wishes it was a valid option to grab and shake him. Or scream. Or both.

“Yeah?” she challenges. “Why don't you look at me then?” The fight to keep the frustration out of her voice is only moderately successful. Kakashi’s had a lot of patience with her these last weeks, she should be able to do the same for him. 

There is no answer. Of course. Hermione restrains a sigh and studies her hiking booths. They are muddy. The frustration is giving way to despondency. She’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

“So, I can't touch you, and you won't look at me, but everything's good?” The nail of her right pinkie finds its way to her lower lip, scratching absentmindedly. “Was it something I did?” She knows it isn't, or shouldn't be at least, but can't help the question. Anything to get some kind of reaction.

“Don't.” Kakashi’s voice is hoarse.

“What?” The question escapes before Hermione can process what Kakashi is saying. 

“Don't do  _this_.” There’s a vulnerability in Kakashi’s words, stark in its contrast to his usual steadiness. And she put it there. Hermione closes her eyes and breathes. She did tell herself not to push, and then went on to do exactly that. With guilt none the less, which might be the worst kind of pressure.

“I'm sorry,” she says, and she means it. “I just...” want to do something, she thinks. Anything. This whole situation is eating her alive. But she can’t tell Kakashi that, it’s not exactly helpful. “You want to be left alone,” she says instead, “I get it. I'll be back by our stuff.” If Hermione could have one wish granted in that moment it would be Kakashi accepting help. Preferably hers. She can’t remember feeling this powerless even in relation to her own issues when they were at their worst. “Is that better?” she asks when there’s no reaction from Kakashi. The question is met with more silence and she shuffles to move, unwilling but compelled by her own words and destructive reactions. Her being here helps no one.

“No.” Kakashi’s voice stops her before she can take the first step. “I...” Hermione can’t tell if his voice breaks or fades out because he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.  “Distract me?” His head bows forwards with the words, and he draws a breath deep enough to raise his shoulders. Hermione grabs hold of the fabric of her shirt to stop herself from reaching for him. Even so, the pain is mingled with warmth because he's actually  _asking_  her to help. As if someone heard her wish only seconds ago and decided it was a reasonable request.

“Okay,” Hermione says. “I can do that.” She searches for something she can rant about without needing input; discards the wizarding world’s view on muggles on the basis of it being too personal. This isn’t about her after all.

“I haven’t told you about my latest pet peeve, have I?” she asks, but goes on before Kakashi can answer. “I’ve sort of started to see the way newspapers make it sound like there are no villains. Like the violence does itself, and now that I started noticing it, I just can’t stop. It’s all passive phrasing, like someone ‘was raped’, or ‘domestic violence kills’, and it’s just so annoying you know?” Hermione bets Kakashi doesn’t know, but she goes on anyway. She’s warming to the subject and can feel her body loosening and her hands begin to twitch as she speaks. “I mean, murder or rape or domestic violence isn’t something that just happens on its own. There are perpetrators. Like the other day when a headline said domestic violence kills lots of women. But it’s not the violence on its own, is it? It’s their boyfriends or husbands, doing the violence.”

“Does it really matter though?” Kakashi asks as she pauses for air. He sounds more normal now, if still slightly empty. “Don’t we all already know there’s someone behind it?”

Hermione hums. “I guess we do, on some level, but it still matters, I believe. The language we use to describe things changes the way we think about them, meaning that the use of passive language like that easily spreads the idea that these things are a sort of natural force that will always happen. I think that prevents us from putting the blame in the right place, and makes us not work as hard to stop these things as we should.” She tries to remember what she said, and if she had any kind of cohesion, but doesn’t know. “Am I making any sense?” she asks instead.

“Yes,” Kakashi says, “and no.” It’s enough to carry the conversation for a while longer, letting it slip seamlessly into the next one as the topic begins to drain.

The tension in Kakashi’s shoulders slowly falls away and a little bit of life re-enters his voice. He stays with his back to her for a long time, but Hermione doesn’t call him out on it. At least like this, she can do something.

.oOo.

Going down is much easier that going up. The fact that it’s expected doesn’t make it less pleasant. Hermione even manages to carry a conversation while walking, telling Kakashi about glass cliffs and Theresa May stepping down as soon as a successor is appointed. She had needed several breaks on their way up, while Kakashi walked leisurely next to her like gravity doesn’t apply to him, but she gets halfway down in one go. Setting her backpack by her side Hermione sits down on a stone. This job has added a lot of muscle mass to her upper body, but it doesn’t include cardio and she’s getting winded.

The hillside is beautiful in the sunlight, green and yellow, dotted with white. She runs her hand over a ball of cottongrass, its softness catching lightly in the dry ridges on her fingertips. “You want anything?” she asks Kakashi, as she pulls out a water bottle and some chocolate. He declines, and tests the wetness of the ground with his fingers before sitting down next to her. If Hermione hadn’t seen him a couple of hours ago, she’d think this day was just like any other. Now she knows it isn’t, and traces of heaviness clings around Kakashi like an impervious-charm she can’t stop noticing. Or imagining, for all she knows. The vulnerability, at least, is gone, and Hermione can’t help but feel slightly cold-hearted in her relief to not have to see it.

The chocolate has a core of toffee, and Hermione falls silent as she chews it. Kakashi breaks a straw of grass into tiny pieces next to her. “I wasn’t lying,” he says as Hermione reaches for the water, “before.”

“About what?” she asks, despite being certain what he means. A sip of water takes her eyes away from Kakashi, and it’s a deliberate try to look casual.

“About everything being good. It was.” Kakashi meets Hermione’s eyes as she looks at him. His hands stop moving. There’s nothing to make it seem like he’s lying. In Hermione’s mind the pieces fall into place.

“Until it wasn’t?” she says when it’s clear Kakashi won’t add anything else. Another piece of candy finds its way to her mouth, effectively leaving him to do the talking.

He shrugs and looks away. Drops what’s left of the straw. In the silence Hermione can hear how the toffee sticks in her teeth as she chews.

“When I was at the bottom,” she says once her mouth is empty, “I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.” Turning away from Kakashi she stares blankly out across the valley, resting her elbows on her knees. It’s not a pleasant time to recall, but she continues none the less. “It was just… too much, I guess. It was everything or nothing, and nothing was the only conceivable choice.” A glance shows Kakashi is watching her now, his eyebrows drawn together to create a ditch over his nose. She shrugs. “The crying did come later, obviously. When the adrenaline faded, and I realized that there would be an _after_.”

“Isn’t the medication supposed to spare me that?” Kakashi asks, and a rustle follows the words. When Hermione looks over, he’s lain down, his knees forming a barrier between them. When his words sink in Hermione can feel her heart stutter. She can’t remember if he has ever come that close to admitting he’s in a bad place.

“Not really,” Hermione forms her lips into a facsimile of a smile, but without the joy. “They can take away the lethargy and the hollowness, and baseless things. Not your history.” Too little is visible of Kakashi to read anything out of. “Pain doesn’t go away just because you choose not to feel it,” she adds. “It eats you from the inside out until you deal with it.”

Kakashi doesn’t answer. Instead he raises his arms to rest his palms against his forehead and entangle his fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry,” Hermione says, “I wish I could give you another answer.” She picks at her nails and entertain the idea of taking another piece of candy. Decides not to. “I know it’s scary as hell to fall apart,” she tells Kakashi, “but I think it’s like when you break a bone. It grows back stronger.”

A huff is heard and Kakashi lifts his head to look at her. He raises an eyebrow. “You do know the break is only stronger than the rest of the bone because the unbroken parts weaken from lack of use?” he says dryly. “After the bone has managed to heal the damage done from the break there’s no difference.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Hermione shoves at his knees. “Bad analogy, obviously, but you get my point.”

“That falling apart hurts like hell and make no difference what-so-ever in the long run? Absolutely. I’ll avoid it, thanks.”  He drops back to the ground in time to miss Hermione sticking her tongue out.

“You’re ridiculous,” she tells him. “Now get up. All of us can’t have the weekends off, I’ve got milking in two hours.” There is plenty of time to get home before then, but Kakashi doesn’t complain. Hermione gathers her things and they continue on their way, carefully keeping their feet dry and their conversation light.

.oOo.

Hermione goes out to the barn, but Kakashi keeps fighting it. It’ll turn around, tomorrow will be better, he can make it until then. Because shinobi don’t cry. And because he thinks he might not be able to ever regain the control again. For distraction, he runs. Takes off back up the mountainside. Keeps pushing forward, faster until his shortness of breath is nothing but the effect of physical exertion. Until his mind blanks out.

When he feels like he can’t take another step he turns back. It’s far. He’s almost reached the place where they had lunch, but he doesn’t pause. Finds his way home instead, the universe shrinking to his aching legs and the ground immediately in front of him. Once he reaches the porch, Kakashi takes a moment. Leans with a hand against the wall until the world stills. He should stretch out his legs but can’t imagining putting all his weight on one of them for the time it takes to stretch the other. A shower sounds far more compelling.

“Had a good run?” Hermione asks him from the couch as he stops in the living room to pick up his pyjamas. She’s eyeing him over an open book, a cup of tea steaming on the table. Kakashi’s mouth is sticky and tastes like blood. He nods. The book reclaims Hermione’s attention and Kakashi walks on unsteady legs to the bathroom, drinks from the tap until his stomach aches, and steps into the shower.

The temperate water is a bliss. Closing his eyes Kakashi lets it rinse away the grime, sweat, and lingering discomfort. His head is still buzzing, and he wants to sit down on the floor and forget his own existence. Only, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get back on his feet if he does and showers aren’t great for sleeping. Drawn to the idea of going to bed, Kakashi washes off and gets ready for the night.

With Hermione on the couch, the logical thing to do would be to take one of the armchairs. But that means getting up again at one point. For the first time since he started camping out at Hermione’s, Kakashi wishes he had an actual mattress. That was unoccupied. The couch _is_ made for more than one person, however, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for them to share. If Kakashi picks his seat with the tiniest amount of precision, he could even simply fall sideways once Hermione leaves. All he will need to do is lift his legs up. He can manage that. Probably.

He should have expected, Kakashi thinks as he leans his head back against the backrest, that this would happen. It’s typical for his life, isn’t it? Of course that one minute of absolute peace couldn’t be allowed to go on. It had only been a teasing example of how things could be. For other people.

The last few days had all been good ones, and when he thinks about it Kakashi wonders if he hasn’t had more good days than bad for a while now. His kind of good days at least. If he’d known that all that unfelt hurt would amass into today, he’s not sure he’d let it happen. Or would he? Closing his eyes, he sees Hermione’s bulging eyes at the news of Konoha’s destruction, the way she looked when she got her first decent result with the kunai, feels the echo of pride and warmth from when he did right by her after her nightmare. Then there’s the feeling of laughing, sun on his face, and traces of the blissful sensation Kakashi doesn’t quite dare to call happiness.

“You look beat,” Hermione says from her corner and Kakashi can feel her eyes on him. “How far did you run?” she asks.

“Almost to the top.” He doesn’t bother with lifting his head or opening his eyes.

“The top that took us almost three hours to reach?” Hermione sounds disbelieving, but then she is a slow walker.

“And then back,” Kakashi clarifies.

Cracking open an eyelid is worth it to see Hermione’s widened eyes and the way she angles her head. “That’s obviously insane,” she tells him.

Kakashi hums. “You do know I use to run between countries?” he says, knowing she does. “We’re not the biggest nations, but it’s farther, trust me.”

“Yeah, but you boost your body with chakra then, so it’s not really the same.” Kakashi makes the smallest motion he can manage that is still a shrug and closes his eye again. “I should vacate your bed,” Hermione continues when it’s clear Kakashi doesn’t intend to answer. It sounds like an amazing idea. This is a day Kakashi won’t mind putting behind him.

Silence falls for a few seconds and Kakashi knows Hermione is studying him. She shifts, the well-worn pullover she uses over her sweatpants rustling against the cushions. “I sort of want to hug you,” she says, her tone adding a question mark to her statement. “If you don’t mind.”

Kakashi evaluates his stability. Finds it better than a few hours ago, which doesn’t say much. It’s not like it matter anyway. “I’m not standing up,” he says. “Shop’s closed, come back tomorrow.”  Hermione snorts.

“I’ll take that as a no. Or yes. Or whatever means you don’t mind.” There’s a shuffle beside him, and the unmistakeable feeling of someone entering Kakashi’s personal space, and… He did not expect that. Not in a million years would he have guessed Hermione would take ‘I’m not standing up’ as ‘go ahead and hug me sitting down.’ Maybe he should have. It is Hermione after all.

There’s a shoulder at Kakashi’s throat, and hair in his face. He can’t move enough to hug her back. The arm that has snaked between him and the couch makes his neck bend uncomfortably. A quick look through half-closed eyes shows Hermione is twisted in a way that looks mostly painful. It’s awkward. Kakashi should end it, for both of their sakes. Yet, the shoulder in front of him looks like an okay place to rest his head, and Kakashi shouldn’t, but he does it anyway. He feels shaky, and cold, and the blankness from running is fading away. Being alone with his thoughts isn’t something to look forward to anyways.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Hermione says, and Kakashi feels like he’s been stabbed. He knows he should be stronger than this but… “Come on.” She thugs at him and Kakashi’s heart stops. _That is not better_. He knows what it means when a woman tries to drag a man down with her. Knows he’s supposed to want things he doesn’t. What did he do to make her change her mind about being friends?

Remaining upright is easy, but Kakashi leaves his head on Hermione’s shoulder when he speaks. Lifting it would mean looking at her, and he can’t. “I’m not…” he tries, “I don’t want…” She pulls away, and he can feel her gaze burning his hair. He doesn’t look up, focuses on breathing instead.

“Neither. Do. I.” Hermione says, slow can clear. “Okay? I’m sorry if I overstepped, I didn’t mean to insinuate, it just…” she tapers off. “It seemed like a practical solution,” she finally says.

He doesn’t know who starts laughing first.

Kakashi laughs until he runs out of air. His breath hitches. It feels like after someone has punched him in the gut and paralyzed his diaphragm. The temporary numbness from running has worn through like the energy from a food pill. He should have guessed the backlash would be similar as well. Maybe he’s going insane. Leaning forward Kakashi places his elbows on his knees and twists his hands into his hair. The sharp sting on his scalp serving as a focal point for his mind.

A hand lands on Kakashi’s shoulder and continues out across his back. “Easy,” Hermione says, “it’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“How would you know?” Kakashi manages. His dad hadn’t been okay. Not Obito. Not Rin. Not Minato or…

“If I were to guess,” Hermione interrupts his thoughts, “your chest feels funny. Like it’s shrunk a size, and it makes you aware of every breath you take.” It’s not an unreasonable conclusion for her to make, his uneven breathing a dead giveaway. It doesn’t _prove_ anything. “You might even feel your own pulse,” Hermione continues, “stronger or faster than it should be. You could be warm, or cold, or dizzy. You _are_ tense.” She draws her thumb along one of the muscles in Kakashi’s back with the last statement. Kakashi closes his eyes. It’s coincidence, nothing more. She’s just guessing.   

“More than anything though, there’s this feeling.” Hermione’s voice sounds far away. “Like worry, but without something to worry about, so your brain starts making up things to project the emotion on. Mistakes you’ve made, insecurities you have, catastrophes that might happen; it’s all dragged to the surface. And it feeds into it. Makes breathing harder, messes up your heartbeat, make you feel sick, and your mind starts spinning faster trying to find reasons for why you’re feeling like this. Which really only makes it worse.” The words echo back and forth through Kakashi’s brain in the space of Hermione inhaling.

“Right or wrong?” Hermione finishes, drawing him in so he’s leaning against her side.

That he allows it to happen is a sign of weakness, he knows it is, and a shinobi shouldn’t show weakness. Maybe he shouldn’t be a shinobi – he’s failing spectacularly at it after all – but Kakashi can’t imagine being anything else. He definitely can’t imagine being Hokage. If he breaks basic rules of being a ninja after twenty-five years of active service, how will he ever manage to live up to the hat?

There was a question, he remembers, one he hasn’t answered. “I…” he clears his throat, but the lump there remains. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Hermione says, “I do. And maybe the symptoms are different for you, but it’s still anxiety. Which will get better. You _will_ be okay. It’s temporary.” The arm around Kakashi’s shoulders is firm, but the voice is soft.

Anxiety. Okay.

If this is anxiety, Kakashi doesn’t like it much. “How do I make it stop?” he asks, hating how frail he sounds. He’s been through far worse days in his life, there’s no reason for his throat to tighten like this now.

Hermione exhales. “I really wish I knew,” she says. “I guess I just try to not let it dictate my life by reminding myself that this is one of the traits that keeps my great, great ancestors alive, back when people died in much larger numbers than today.” Her shrug transfers into Kakashi. “ _Fake it ‘til you make it_ works sometimes, hugs and verbalizing my thought keeps me sane for the rest. I write a lot if there’s no one to talk to, or if it’s things I can’t bring myself to say out loud.”

Hugs, Kakashi repeats in his mind, and talking. That explains more about Hermione in one sentence than he ever thought possible. He isn’t sure that the same techniques apply to him. They’re probably too different. Although hugs aren’t necessarily bad, he doesn’t need them the way Hermione do. And talking is definitely not for him.

When there’s no answer, Hermione must interpret it like some kind of agreement. She folds under Kakashi’s weight, and since he’s already leaning against her it would be an active decision not to go with her. Kakashi is too tired to fight, or make choices. On the way down, Hermione twists so that she ends up on her back with Kakashi sandwiched between her side and the back of the couch. The arm that was around his shoulders circles around his back.

“This is improper,” Kakashi says. He tries to figure out where to put his right arm. The least awkward place he can come up with being on his hip, where it already rests. It’s not very comfortable.

“Probably,” she says. He’d expected her to disagree, to come up with some reason for why it was normal. “Does it matter?” she asks instead, and that’s the real question isn’t it?

The knee-jerk reaction is to say, “of course it matters,” but the words stick in Kakashi’s throat. He’s been raised a shinobi, taught that the most important things he has is his skills and his reputation. He’s accepted that things like hugs are for couples, and as such will never be for him. Ninjas do get married and has families and what-not, but that has the pre-requirement of falling in love. Kakashi has no idea how to do that. Is in fact certain he can’t. People in love seem to get stupid in ways he’s sure he can never manage.

And, his mind is spinning away from the subject: If Hermione expects nothing more from him? If they’re friends? If no one else knows? _Does it really matter?_ Maybe he could just stay here for a minute, until he finds the energy to sit back up?

Lying like this, Kakashi feels every single one of Hermione’s breaths against his chest as her ribcage widens. Through the soft, worn sweater, he can hear the steady beat of her heart. He lets his eyelids fall shut. When he swallows, his throat is as thick as it was up on the mountain. Yet, while the feeling this afternoon had been the strong rushing current of a swift river, or trying to stay afloat at the base of a waterfall, this is the slow inevitably of the tide flowing in. For the first time Kakashi can remember, he _wants_ to cry. If it could make even a little bit of the pain in his chest go away, it could be worth it.

Of course, that means he can’t. Not a single tear fall.

“Talk to me.” Hermione’s voice is low. She moves her head, stirring Kakashi’s hair, but he can’t tell which way. “Give me one thing that’s on your mind. As small as you like.”

“Why?” Kakashi asks. His voice is rougher that he’d like.

“Why not?” Hermione counters.

Kakashi should sit up. Move away. Hermione might be in his bed, but he has another one at Heimstaðir. Only, his legs are tingling with exhaustion and he wants nothing but sleep. Going outside feels like the worst idea possible. Not to mention explaining to Sunna why he’s stumbling back in all of a sudden. The sigh he lets escape is wobbly. A hint of a tremor travels under the skin along Kakashi’s arm, but it’s the coolness of the air, nothing else.

“It hurts,” he says, “and changes nothing.” It comes out too close to being an accusation, but he doesn’t take it back.

Silence falls. Given the lack of change in Hermione’s pulse Kakashi doesn’t think she’s angry with him. After a while she hums, the sound vibrating through her shoulder and spreading to Kakashi’s cheek. “It does hurt,” she says, “but I believe it hurts either way. And that sometimes it can be better to get all the hurt out at once than carrying it around indefinitely. Like ripping a band aid, or pulling out an aching tooth, or resetting a dislocation.” None of them are things Kakashi has tried, but he gets her point. This is not an aching tooth however, but something far messier.

“You could try, with one of the smaller things, that’s all I’m saying,” Hermione continues when it’s clear Kakashi has no intention to speak. Her tone files away any edges the words could have had. “If you feel the same after that I won’t keep on nagging you. Promise.” She bumps her knee sideways into Kakashi’s leg. Her voice is smiling.

Maybe, if he doesn’t move, Hermione will think he’s fallen asleep. That would save Kakashi from reacting. He probably could fall asleep for real, if his left arm wasn’t becoming numb from being trapped under his body. It would be the perfect escape.

Hermione’s prompting sticks in Kakashi’s mind. It tumbles around and knocks topics loose from their storage, all the things he’s trying (and failing) not to think about. ‘One of the smaller things;’ what would that even be? Everything is one huge tangle of disasters pressed together by the snowballing mess his life became after his dad died. There is no way to explain his inadequacy with Sasuke or Naruto without catching the thread that’s his own genin team. It’s impossible to touch at the war without absolutely everything else cascading down with it, and very few things this last year that can be mentioned without ending up with questions about said war.

Breathing becomes close to impossible. With a boost of chakra to his legs Kakashi could get away from here. No more is needed. But he’s not supposed to use chakra. Forcing his breath into sync with Hermione’s works for a while, and he lets that and her heartbeat fill his mind. It’s soothing. More so than he believed possible. Hugs might work after all, even horizontal ones.

He probably is going insane; the evidence is stacking up. How is someone who can’t keep his own mind in check meant to be able to keep a village safe? And that’s it, isn’t it? The smallest thing that has defined edges. One thing that might be sacrificed to have a fool proof way to avoid nagging like this in the future.

.oOo.

Hermione almost flinches when Kakashi speaks, having been certain that he won’t. “They’ll make me Hokage once I get home,” he says, his voice cool and low. She wonders how much practice it takes to say things like that so casually.

This day has been a mad roller-coaster, but it’s been Kakashi’s trip. Hermione’s only been along for the ride. It’s not what she expected, and a traitorous voice in the back of her head reminds her she to have a quiet evening with her book. Not that she minds dropping it for Kakashi, she’d skip a lot more, but she hasn’t finished readjusting yet. It’s a strange role, she thinks, supporting someone. It’s scary, painful, usually inconvenient, and impossible to schedule. For someone who likes organization and plans it has a way of turning everything on its head. Even so, there’s nowhere she’d rather be than right here. Kakashi needs her, apparently trusts her more than she thought, and has been there for her a lot lately. Her own convenience matters little compared to that.

“Make you?” she questions when the silence stretches. Pushing now is a horrible idea, but a little encouragement shouldn’t hurt. Probably. “You don’t have a choice?” Kakashi breathes quietly by her side. From her angle all she can see is his hair, which doesn’t give her much to go on.

“Tsunade’s stepping down,” he finally tells her. “Naruto needs a few more years. There’s no other candidates until then.” The grey strands touching the side of Hermione’s neck is wet and the air smells faintly of shampoo. He never said it’s not a choice, but Hermione knows how the possibility to decline is sometimes only a theoretical exercise. Like joining Harry on the hunt for horcruxes. Or fighting in the battle of Hogwarts.

“Why you though?” Hermione prods. Kakashi shrugs with his free shoulder.

“It needs to be someone strong, and well-known enough to dissuade attackers. Someone strategic, who’s done a lot of missions as a squad leader, and are respected for their skills.” Pairing his answers together Hermione realizes she needs to re-evaluate Kakashi once more.

“You never told me you are famous,” she says, careful to keep her tone joking as she taps his side with her fingers.

“You never told me _you_ are famous,” Kakashi replies, and Hermione can bet he’d raise an eyebrow if she could see them.

“Point well made,” she concedes, “but that’s because the policeman sort of beat me to it.”

“Excuses,” Kakashi says. The arm already in place around him is perfect for jostling him, and if she shakes some of the tenseness from his posture it’s a complete coincidence. It’s a playful punishment that only happens to end with him leaning a little more against her.

“You’ll be okay,” Hermione says as the heaviness sneaks back in. It’s a stupid thing to say, a pointless comfort that’s almost a lie. Kakashi huffs out a breath that falls in the vicinity of being a laugh but lacks amusement.

“Yeah,” he says. “ _I’m_ always okay.”

The continuation hangs unsaid between them. Wondering how many people someone would lose over twenty-five years of active service, Hermione lets her outer hand find its way around Kakashi as well and locks her fingers together behind his back.

“Two things,” she says. “One; I meant that you’ll _do_ alright. And two; I think saying you’re always okay might be a bit of a stretch.” There are much more she wants to say, questions she wants to ask and thoughts she wants to share. There will be time for that later, however, if she handles this right. When his breath has evened out and the shakiness has receded.

Kakashi remains unmoving, quiet. Pressing him more now is doomed to be counterproductive, so Hermione mimics his reaction. She hasn’t been this close to anyone since breaking up with Ron. It’s nice, if a little awkward. With Ron it always had the risk of becoming something more complicated, but she doesn’t feel that way with Kakashi. They might not be as familiar with each other’s bodies, not able to fit together as seamlessly as you can after years of lying close to someone, but it’s effortless in a different way. Close, warm, safe, and intimate in a non-sexual way. She didn’t think she could have that, thought she would have to choose.

A small shuffle at her side makes Hermione think Kakashi’s arm must have fallen asleep. He’s not leaning against her enough to get it behind his body, but she hasn’t been able to tell him that. It would be a supremely uncomfortable conversation. For being a species with a need for physical contact, Hermione thinks the human body is poorly designed with its impractical shoulders and arms that tend to get in the way in any position that isn’t horrible for the neck. Kakashi twists his body away from her and rests his back against the couch, the crushed arm becoming their only point of contact from Kakashi’s side. On the narrow couch it almost sends Hermione toppling to the floor.

“Want me to evacuate your bed so you can sleep?” she asks. A voice in her head tells her that no, she likes it here, _she_ could sleep here, but this isn’t about her. Even if she _could_ curl into Kakashi’s side and get all her weight back on the couch.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” Kakashi’s tone is dry, but like dust it has no sharpness.

Hermione wants to reach out and ruffle his hair, but she contains herself. Lying like this it’s easy to fall back to the habits she had with Ron, but touching Kakashi too casually is bound to lead to disaster. It won’t matter if she doesn’t intend for it to be anything but comfort. They’re already toeing the line between friendship and something else here, because like Kakashi pointed out this isn’t considered proper between friends. It would be frowned upon if either of them had a significant other.

Wishing seldom leads anywhere, but Hermione wants a label in between friendship and couple; one where being curled up on the couch together was okay but no one expected romance. Where she could smooth down the duvet she places over Kakashi before she leaves for her bedroom. Now, instead, she lets it float down on top of him and watches him roll over to wrap it around himself as she says good night, her hands at her sides.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to stop making ANs from here on out unless it’s something very special. I will use that energy to more constructive things, like writing. All my ANs say about the same things anyway: I’m publishing later than planned, I haven’t betaed as much as I should, and I love you all. Please consider all of the above true for every chapter and keep sending me reviews to let me know what you think (those I will continue answering, of course, I absolutely love that bit).  
>   
> Also, general disclaimer for the whole story: I’m not a medical professional, not a therapist of any kind, nor anything else that means you should take anything said in here as an absolute truth. This is especially true for things regarding medications, medical diagnostics, and such. This is based on my own journey and experiences, and while I’ve researched a lot, some things are completely made up. I appreciate if you let me know if you find any obvious faults.

Kakashi wakes with a fever. He’s known it for most of the night, alternating between freezing and burning, and the ache in his muscles in the morning is confirmation rather than news. Some kind of virus probably, which can also explain his susceptibility yesterday. It’s normal to be a bit off right before you get sick, isn’t it? At least it’s Sunday, and he has nothing on his schedule. With some rest he should be fit for work tomorrow.

Over breakfast, Hermione takes one look at him and calls him out on it. Kakashi feels like banging his head against the table. A normal person wouldn’t have noticed and if they did, they’d sure wouldn’t bring it up, but Hermione never cared much about normal, did she? There’s no point trying to deny it, the certainty in her voice is absolute, even if she phrases it as a question.

“You know,” Hermione says, pushing her plate away from her, “overdoing it can do that. If your autonomous nervous system is broken from stress it can react to additional strain with fever, to make you slow down. And I guess running to the top of the mountain and back without using your chakra could be a bit much, even for you.” She sips her tea. Any other kinds of strain from yesterday is left unmentioned, and Kakashi doesn’t know whether to be grateful or apprehensive. It’s bound to come up sooner or later, she’s not good at letting things be.

“Or,” he says, before she can change her mind. “It’s just a virus.”

She shrugs. “Or it’s just a virus,” she agrees. “Either way there’s some…” she frowns and shakes her head slightly. “Or not, since they’re NSAIDs. The pharmacy should be open though, if you need anything?”

The smile finds its way to Kakashi’s lips unbidden, but it’s small enough to not be seen through the mask. “I’ll be fine,” he tells her. It’s not like he’s a fan of fever-reducers anyway. Better to let his immune system do its thing.

Before dropping the subject Hermione makes him promise to let her know if he changes his mind.

.oOo.

“I was thinking,” Hermione says as she’s dishing up potatoes on her plate for lunch. “Is there somewhere around here where I could go to see the actual sun at midnight?”

“Já,” Ingo answers, scratching his beard, “up by the coast. Or on some of the mountains maybe.” He turns to Kristín, and switches to Icelandic.

The conversation flows back and forth for a while before Kristín rises, digs through a kitchen drawer, and comes back with a map that she unfolds on the table. “Some people drive up here for Jónsmessa,” she says, pointing with her left hand and shovelling meatloaf into her mouth with her right. “That’s on Monday, but it might be empty during the week if you want to take your boy on a date.”

“Jónsmessa?” Hermione asks. As she says it, the rest of Kristín’s sentence sinks in. Heat spreads across Hermione’s face. “And he’s not my boy, and it wouldn’t be a date.”

“So, he’s not coming?” Kristín smirks.

“I don’t know, but it’s not a date either way.” There’s a tablecloth, and if Hermione were to slide down out of her chair, she might be able to disappear under the table. Kristín laughs at her, and even Ingo’s smiling. He’s such a traitor.

“If you take a guy you’ve been sleeping with every night for _weeks_ to a secluded mountaintop to watch the midnight sun; it’s a date.”

“It’s not like that,” Hermione tries. “He’s staying on the couch, because I was freaking out after the fire, and…” The memory of laying together on that very couch, only three days ago, and how she had wished she could go to sleep there, springs unbidden to Hermione’s mind. She can feel the warmth on her face creep down her neck and knows she’s beet red. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before.” Kristín waves her fork around. “Does he have a girlfriend back home? Is that it?”

Hermione chokes on her milk, nearly spraying it across the table. The coughing that follows makes sure she can’t get a word through. Kristín’s grin becomes impossibly wide. “Oooh,” she starts, but Ingo lays a hand across her mouth.

“I like Hermione,” Ingo says with a smile of his own, “so don’t scare her off.” He turns towards Hermione. “Did you know she made our kids refuse to bring home anyone they were dating for several years?”

“It’s not my fault that first one didn’t have any humour.” The hand hasn’t left Kristín’s mouth, making her words muffled.

“What did she do?” Hermione asks Ingo, and she can feel laughter twitching in the corners of her lips.

Before Ingo can answer Kristín shoves his arm away. “Jónsmessa,” she says loudly, “is the Icelandic midsummer celebrations. It’s held at the 24th of June, right after…”  Beside her, her husband is mouthing that he’ll tell Hermione later.

.oOo.

Ingo knocks on Hermione’s front door that afternoon, a rolled-up guest mattress in hand. “I’m not my wife, nor Sunna,” he tells Hermione, “I couldn’t care less who sleeps where. But _if_ he’s sleeping on the couch, I think this might be better. No one should be sleeping on a sofa for weeks on end.”

The smile and “thank you,” that Hermione gives him is honest, but a sinking feeling lodges in the bottom of her stomach as she carries the mattress in. Kakashi’s been sleeping on her couch for too long, hasn’t he? It hasn’t even been altogether necessary for the last couple of days. The nightmares have abated, and the fear is fading away. Surely, if someone where to come, it would already have happened? Weeks have passed after all. She’s repeatedly told herself she can keep Kakashi around for one more night, just in case. Then, after Saturday, she’s been telling herself she doesn’t want to drive him away. In case _he_ needs _her_. Which really should be his choice, shouldn’t it?

Truth is, she likes having Kakashi around. Not only because she feels safe. That hasn’t been the main reason for quite some time now. She simply doesn’t know what she’d do on her own with all this time on her hands. When he’s at Heimstaðir working during the days the house feels empty in a way it didn’t before. There’s a lot of things passing through her mind that she wants to tell him in those short hours alone, but at least now she knows he’ll show up in the evening.

Realizing she would miss seeing Kakashi every day if he moved back to Heimstaðir is terrifying. Because Hermione knows that in only a few months it won’t be a question of how many days will pass in between meeting Kakashi. The question will be if they’ll ever meet again. With that in mind, she should definitely let him go now. Getting used to this will only make it hurt more later. Tomorrow, though; she can tell him tomorrow.

.oOo.

Tuesday evening there’s an actual mattress waiting for Kakashi when he gets back to Hermione’s. His back and shoulders are grateful, because even if he switches direction every other night the slight tilt of the sofa cushions is beginning to get to him. That the new bed puts an uncomfortable tightness in his abdomen is something he prefers not to analyse. It’s better to take Hermione outside and focus on kunai practice. There’s a practical function to that.

Over the last weeks Hermione’s built up decent skills for a civilian beginner. Enough that Kakashi trusts she won’t hurt herself. For him, target practice without chakra felt flat at first, empty and imprecise with its low speed, but he’s getting used to it. He watches as Hermione sends a kunai flying. It’s fishtailing and dropping altitude with the loss of speed. Not one of her finer throws. He sends a kunai of his own to knock it down, the sound of steel against steel sharp in the wind. The impulse to close his left eye is still there.

“What?” Hermione wheels around, pointing at him with the kunai she’s transferred to her right hand. “What?” she repeats. Kakashi raises a lone eyebrow at the blade aimed at his chest. Not that it’s dangerous, wielded like that and against him, but it’s bad form. “Sorry,” Hermione says and lowers her arm. “But still; what was that? What if that was my bullseye?” She’s not actually angry, Kakashi knows, her eyes aren’t narrow enough for that.

“It wasn’t.” Kakashi shrugs. “It would have hit right there.” Without looking he sends a new kunai flying, hitting the target in the lower left corner. Hermione’s eyes go back and forth between the hilt of the knife and Kakashi’s smile. He tries his best to look innocent.

“Show-off.” Hermione sticks her tongue out. “Now leave my kunai in the air, please?” She cocks her head, and if she wasn’t carrying blades Kakashi thinks she’d cross her arms

“But stationary targets are boring.” Kakashi lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Hermione laughs at him.

“I’m not feeling sorry for you,” she informs. “You can stop trying, you’re still not allowed to shoot down my kunai.”

“Just the bad ones?” Kakashi asks. “Until I learn to use both my eyes?” The second he says it he knows it was too much. There will be questions.

“Learn to use both your eyes?” Hermione recites, her left thumb scraping a strand of hair out of her face. The wind replaces it with another one.

Grimacing, Kakashi rubs his neck. “I’m not getting out of that one, am I?” he says.

“Nope.” Hermione straightens with the word, curiosity in her eyes and a grin on her lips. It’s hard not to smile with her, and this isn’t a secret per se. There hasn’t been a reason to mention it, is all.

“Well, this eye,” Kakashi reaches up to trail his fingers lightly over his left eyelid, following the scar tissue from eyebrow to the edge of his mask, “it used to be different: Faster. More exact.”

Obito’s, that’s what it used to be. A memento, a sacrifice, and a gift. An ace up his sleeve that got him where he is today. A connection to a boy Kakashi had resented too much to befriend, but who had changed his life completely. After what happened in the war, Kakashi still hasn’t figured out how to feel about it all. “I lost it,” he simply tells Hermione. Can’t imagine going into further detail. “Naruto replaced it for me, so I can see, but it’s a normal eye now. With the power it had, it drew from my chakra every time I used it. It made sense to keep it closed most of the time. Now, I should relearn to keep it open.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says. “but I’m still not sure that gives you reason to knock my kunai down?”

Kakashi has the feeling he got off too easily, but he takes what he can get. “Maa,” he says, “moving targets _are_ better practice you know.”

“Excuses,” Hermione answers. Her lips are pushed together like when she tries to avoid smiling, and she shakes her head. More hair sticks across her face and she reaches up to remove it.

“Just the ones that will miss the board?” Kakashi suggests. “Then you won’t have to walk as far to pick them up.” He cocks his head and Hermione laughs.

“Fine,” she says. “Fine. But only the ones who will miss completely.”

Nodding, Kakashi watches as she turns back to the target. It’s becoming rare that she misses completely. Her fingers are still too firm around the handle as she gets ready to throw, but it’s gotten better. The kunai comes up, passes her cheek, and with a little bit of timing…

“Waa!” Kakashi calls out. Hermione flinches, the kunai flies wide, and he throws a shuriken after it.

The death glare Hermione sends him should be recorded for the history books. This time it’s not negligence that leaves the blade in her hand as she points at him, taking a step forward.

“What?” Kakashi questions. He holds his hands out and widens his eyes. “It would have missed.”  Dancing away from the hand coming to slap him over the head, Kakashi puts his hand in his pockets and shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re mad, you said…” 

“Rules,” Hermione’s voice matches the kunai she waves at Kakashi. “We are going to have rules.” The angry lines around her mouth and over her forehead makes the spark in her eyes clearer with its contrast. Kakashi smiles.

Unfortunately, Hermione is intelligent. Before she throws the last kunai of the set, she makes sure to close every loophole Kakashi can use. With chakra, he could find a few, but not like this. Not even pouting helps. For next practice, he’ll have to make her move further back so she misses more often.

.oOo.

Hermione is predominantly happy. Kakashi likes riling her up, and playing into it might encourage him, but it’s also fun. A lot of fun. His humour varies between desert dry, provocative and cocky. Sometimes all three. Usually, Hermione wants to smack her head against the nearest hard surface even as she laughs. To return fire and challenge him has a way of giving the most unexpected outcomes. So far, he’s stepped up and proved most of his outlandish claims to be true. It’s glimpses of another Kakashi, more carefree and at ease with himself, and it’s hard not to get pulled in by that.

She gives him permission to take down all the five kunai on her last round, and it’s impossible not to laugh in awe at the results. It’s like living with a one-man circus, she thinks, as he casually knocks her kunai out of the air with scary precision. In the back of her mind, however, there’s an itch that won’t leave her alone.

“Am I allowed to ask about the Hokage-thing?” They’re back inside, seated at the table with tea and sandwiches, and she was never good at not scratching the itchy places.

Kakashi watches her, his eyes narrow but his shoulders loose. “I’m not about to give you free reign, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” he says. The tone is easy, a continuation of their banter more than a serious answer. Hermione decides to take it as a go-ahead.

“You don’t want it, do you?”  she asks, cocking her head. Kakashi crosses his arms over his chest and glances out the window.

“No,” he says.

“Why?” Hermione runs a finger along the rim of her teacup and makes sure to keep her tone light. “Does it have something to do with the loss of sight you were talking about?” Silence falls. A small indentation shows up between Kakashi’s eyebrows, but his eyes doesn’t stray from the window. “You don’t have to answer,” Hermione tells him, “it was just something I’ve been thinking about.”

“I don’t know,” Kakashi says slowly. “Both?” He glances at Hermione before looking back out over the fields, rubbing his chin through the mask. “It’s a weakness, but not one I shouldn’t be able to account for. Given the current political climate we’re unlikely to get attacked before I’ve had the time to adapt. Although on the other hand someone might see the opportunity and decide to use it. Either way, even without the sharingan I’m by far Konoha’s strongest jōnin.” A shrug finds its way to his shoulders. “There’s no one else.”

Hearing him casually acknowledging his strength is odd. Hermione’s brought up with the notion that she needs to hide her intelligence. To acknowledge it would mean admitting she thinks she’s better than other people, which is supposedly the same as finding them stupid. And no one like’s people who thinks others are stupid. That she very rarely thinks that apparently has nothing to do with it. She wonders what it would be like, to shamelessly admit her strength as easily as she does her weaknesses.  

“But?” Hermione prompts when Kakashi fails to follow up on his answer. For once he seems thoughtful rather than reluctant, and she intends to make the most of it. It might have been one of the things on his mind as he was falling apart the other day, but it can still be discussed in a lighter tone today. And maybe, Hermione thinks, that’s part of the key to getting Kakashi to tell her things. Some of his biggest revelations so far has come when he’s been teasing her. She can do this his way. Probably.

Dark grey eyes flicker to Hermione for a second. Whatever he sees in her, it must be right. “We’re not at war anymore.” He shrugs while speaking.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Hermione lets her disbelief leak through her voice and exaggerates her facial expression. This doesn’t have to turn into a heavy conversation, she can be casual.

An eyebrow rises. “They didn’t pick me because I’m the best at _not_ fighting.” Kakashi uses his dry tone, and despite the conditioned feeling of joking that is supposed to bring, Hermione feels like someone blasted a hole in her abdomen. That’s what it all boil downs to then.

“Nor for your great taste in books,” she says. Lightly.  “Or your humbleness.” She takes a bite of her sandwich, speaking around it for her next words. “So, what will your job be?”

Kakashi shrugs. “Getting the village back to strength. Making sure we’re not thrown into a new war. Having Icha-Icha translated to English. Sending someone with a copy and the order to sit on you until you’ve read it.”

“You know,” Hermione forces her grin only a little bit, “I can be awfully stubborn. I bet I can wear them down. If not, I could always start crying and see what they’d do.”

“Don’t traumatize my shinobi.” Kakashi makes a pained face. Smiling sweetly now, Hermione flutters with her eyelids and clasps her hands together. A thud echoes through the kitchen as Kakashi’s forehead hits the table. “Or me,” he says weakly. It’s impossible not to laugh.

“Well, I guess you’ll have your hands full without torturing me. Being Hokage sounds like a hard job.” It’s a not very subtle nudge back to the initial subject, but Hermione can’t make herself care.

“No kidding.” The table distorts Kakashi’s voice before he lifts his head up. “And diplomacy and relationships are my strongest sides,” he continues, “as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Hermione says. Some things can’t be allowed to pass by unchallenged, no matter if she means for this to be an easy conversation or not. It’s not that she doesn’t get what Kakashi is saying, but he’s come a far way in the short time she’s known him. He should know that. “You’ve handled me being a mess these last weeks like a pro.” It comes out softer than intended, but Hermione doesn’t mind. Every word of it is true, and she’s grateful. He should know that.

There’s no answer, only arms being crossed and a lack of facial expression.

“Tsunade agrees with me,” Kakashi finally says, as if that settles it.

Unsure what to make of that, Hermione can feel her eyebrows draw together. “Huh?” she manages around the sour taste in her mouth. 

“That’s why I’m here,” Kakashi explains, as if it’s nothing more than the answer to yet another of Hermione’s questions about chakra. His tone indicates it’s a stupid one. “Tsunade’s old,” he continues, “and didn’t want the hat to start with. She’ll be expected to retire now, and the job will go to me. So; she took me out of the picture.”

For a few seconds, nothing is said. Hermione feels inadequacy like a black hole in her abdomen. No wonder becoming Hokage was on Kakashi’s mind a few days ago if that’s why he thinks he’s here. And Hermione surely made it about a thousand times worse with her comment about this so-called mission. “Did she tell you that’s why she did that?” she asks, because there could be another explanation.

“She didn’t exactly need to,” he answers, sounding tired.

The need to push for more details is overwhelming, but Hermione bites her tongue. Literally. “Or,” she says instead, “and I’m just guessing here, she decided you needed a break? _Maybe_ , she took a long look at you this winter and realized one added thing on your plate would drive you into the ground? _Maybe_ , she sent you away for your own sake?”

“Maybe,” Kakashi leans back and arrange his face in a smile that’s one hundred percent fake, “you don’t know Tsunade at all?”

“I don’t.” Hermione agrees, “but I know you, and I guess she does too.” A fire is burning in Hermione’s chest, making her fingers itch. It’s unclear whether slapping Kakashi or hugging him would have the best chance of calming her, so Hermione does neither. She changes subject instead. “By the way,” she says, “when exactly is it that you’re leaving? Because I’m going home for that wedding in September.”

Some of the tension leaves Kakashi and he raises his book to finish his sandwich. “The 26th,” he says. “Why?”

“I…” Hermione stalls. This is actually a bad idea, isn’t it? “Do you want to come?” she asks before she can change her mind. “I can’t invite you to the wedding, obviously, since it’s not mine, but you’d be welcome to everything else. I mean, you could see where I come from, and it’d be somewhere I can actually do magic, which would make answering some of your questions a lot easier, and…” The thought’s been on her mind for a long time, but it seems awkward and presumptuous when she says it out loud. Why on earth would he want to tag along when she’s visiting her parents and friends? And what makes her think he’d be interested in her wand waving? Couldn’t she have grasped one of the other straws in her mind in her rush to change topic? Something that doesn’t make her come off less clingy?

“When is this?” Kakashi says, the bread forgotten halfway between his mouth and the table. Over his book, his eyes are wide.

“The wedding’s the 21st,” Hermione tells him. “And I’ve planned to be home about a week in total, but I haven’t decided the exact days.”

“And you want me to meet your parents? And your friends?”

The opinion that this makes Hermione insane is not said in words, but it’s there all the same. “What?” she laughs, “are you scared?” Kakashi’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not scared of civilians,” he says. “I’m just not very good with them, especially parents.”

“Oh, so you’ve been introduced to someone’s parents before? Whose?” Not teasing him is unimaginable, and Hermione can feel herself smile widely. “Was it awkward?”

“Yes,” Kakashi answers dryly. “Sakura’s. Not really, mostly formal and boring.” Hermione tries to imagine how it would have looked, Kakashi meeting the parents of the twelve-year-old whose survival depended on him, but she can’t. There’s too much she doesn’t know about how things work in Konoha.

“Well,” she says instead, “my parents aren’t very formal, so you’ll be safe there.” Simply saying it almost makes her cringe, watching her mother’s curiosity clash with Kakashi’s silence could fall anywhere between hilarious and supremely uncomfortable.

Kakashi hums. “I’ll think about it,” he says and gets back to his sandwich.

.oOo.

Hermione clearly doesn’t understand that “I’ll think about it,” means “no.”  Maybe Kakashi should have guessed, she’s very straightforward in most things, but he responded automatically. It’s really only his own fault that she spent a good five minutes trying to convince him. Even so, he goes to bed without having agreed. Most of him is refusing, but there’s also a small piece whispering about magic and being able to see it in real life.

The mattress is amazing compared to the couch. He’s rolled it out in a corner of the living room because the ground floor only holds kitchen, living room, bathroom, and Hermione’s bedroom. Apart from the master bedroom there’s an office upstairs, but that whole floor feels private and strange. It’s for the house owners, not for him. Besides, the living room is far better from a tactical point of view.

On her way from the bathroom, Hermione stops in the doorway. “Good night,” she says, like she usually does. Only she stays, afterward, silently watching Kakashi. He wonders if it’s too late to pretend he’s already asleep. With the window behind him she shouldn’t be able to make out if his eyes are open or closed.

“Listen,” Hermione hesitates, “I just…” She bites her lip, and Kakashi’s increasingly certain that she’ll say something he doesn’t want to hear. “If you don’t know Tsunade’s reasons, don’t project the worst possible ones. I know it’s easier said than done, trust me, but it’s…” She shakes her head slowly. “Either ask her, or accept the fact that you don’t know. Okay?”

Kakashi is definitely going to pretend he’s asleep. Closing his eyes, he keeps motionless except for the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes. In his mind, her words echo back and forth. “Sleep tight,” Hermione says, and Kakashi listens to her steps as she walks away. When she’s gone to bed, he stares at the space she occupied. He rubs a hand over his eyes.

Somehow, Hermione had tricked him into talking about the Hokage-thing. Kakashi has no clue how to feel about that; and apparently, Jón’s thing about interpreting emotions have stuck with Kakashi more than he ever wanted it to. It’s much better to avoid feeling when it comes to matters like this. Analysing himself risk making things worse, he needs to stop asking himself how he feels.  

Rolling over on his back fills Kakashi’s view with white ceiling. He takes a slow, deep breath. Hearing some of the things Hermione had to say hurt, but not necessarily in the way he would have expected. He does, however, know she’s wrong. In fact, if Tsunade _didn’t_ send him away to protect the village she’s wrong too. All of it keeps bouncing about in his head; Tsunade’s order, his words, Hermione’s input. Around around around. Rolling over again Kakashi presses his face into his pillow, wishing for the world to leave him alone. In the end, he meditates himself to sleep. Only, losing consciousness means losing focus, and his dreams are filled with disjointed voices arguing.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn’t finished. It’s not what I wanted it to be, but it’s not getting much better either. The plan was also to have most of next chapter written before publishing this, and I apologize in advance for leaving this off where I do.
> 
> But whatever, I can’t really make myself care at the moment because I’m having a horrible day and I need to hear from someone that I’m not doing this for nothing. Hopefully some response will make writing easier again. Maybe I’ve been sending one too many job applications out lately, having them disappear into black holes with, at best, an automated thank-you-note for all my hard work. Maybe it’s PMS that’s coming on much too early, or my stiff shoulders giving me anxiety, or the way I’ve slept way too much for days and then almost nothing tonight. Maybe it’s too much time confined in this mess of an apartment I can’t make myself sort out. Probably, it’s a little bit of all those, and I just need something to break the status quo. Either way, publishing usually makes me happy because you guys are amazing, and I love hearing what you think. Be honest, however, because that gives me the best inspiration. I haven’t rewritten a chapter yet, but I can go back and change in this if you think it’s too flat or weird or OOC, which I’m worrying about.
> 
> And here I was, just last chapter saying I would quit putting energy on ANs, but whatever to that as well. I needed to vent, and you guys were the one’s who got it this time.
> 
> Love and hugs for everyone, you are my heroes!  
> /thosepreciouswalls

The possibility to see the midnight sun exists only in a short window of about a week. They’re not far enough north for more, and the weather hasn’t been on their side. Hermione’s been imagining how it will be; the sunset changing to sunrise just above the valley, warm colours filling the skies and softening the world around her. In her mind, it’s serene.

They plan to go that very evening, are just heading into town for some groceries and picknick things before the evening milking. At two o’clock, Hermione pulls the car to a stop in the courtyard at Heimstaðir. She waits. When there’s an agreed upon time, Kakashi always shows up. Usually within minutes. While he still sleeps at Hermione’s place – and she’s going to talk to him about that, she _is_ – he spends his working days and most early evenings at Heimstaðir. He’s only a temporary night guest at Hermione’s house, for her sake.

When he’s not there at five past she kills the engine. She doesn’t have any patience for this today; her chocolate stash was empty before lunch and she’s old enough to see the connection between the two. Great. At ten past she steps out of the car and walks the short distance to the door. The wind is a solid pressure against her side, but it’s warmed by the first sunshine after days of rain. By now Hermione knows to step through what appears to be the front door, cross the unheated entryway and storage area that must once have been meant as a conservatory, and knock on the door leading into the actual house. There’s no answer.

Hermione tries the door and finds it unlocked. “Kakashi?” she says, voice raised, “you in here?” Even with only Hermione’s head and shoulders crossing the threshold, entering someone else’s home uninvited feels sacrilegious. Add to that the silence of the house being undisturbed and heavy, and it feels logical to start the search outside.

Heimstaðir is an old farm, half the sheep shed a rickety old building with low ceiling and small windows. Huge bay doors open up towards the courtyard, letting in sunshine and fresh air that does little to mask the ingrained smell of animals, hay and ammonia. Hermione’s never been in here, and she can see that Kakashi has his work cut out for him. With the lambing done and the sheep up on the mountainside for the summer he’s been cleaning this place out, and it is not built with slots or bars in the floor where the manure can go down to be pumped out later. Getting the straw beds out will mean a lot of manual labour.

Going in, she misses him. Walks through the old part into the newer, airier one without sensing his presence. Maybe it’s because she’s being mindful of her clean clothes and shoes, trying not to rub against surfaces stained dark by fat wool over the winter and watches where she puts her feet. If she’d known she’d end up in here she’d have worn something else, but that what she gets for wanting to look proper for once. Either way, she doesn’t see him on her way in, and he doesn’t say a word.

On her way out her eyes have gotten used to the change in light and she’s more familiar with the layout. She catches a glimpse of him then, sitting up on the small loft running along the left part of the old building. A narrow ramp takes her up there, and she ducks under the ceiling beams on her way towards him. He doesn’t look injured, and Hermione feels the sting of irritation that he made her worry.

“Hey,” Hermione says as she comes up to him, “you okay?”

There’s no answer, merely a glance before he looks away again. A hatch is open in the boarded floor, and underneath it there’s a pile of manure around a bright square that must somehow lead outside. Kakashi is sitting on the edge of the planks, his rubber boots ankle deep in sheep droppings and old hay, and his elbows resting on his knees. He looks empty. Tired.

“You’re late,” Hermione tells him, attempting to get a reaction. She knows he’s said no one in Konoha would believe that she finds him punctual. He’d laughed for a full minute the first time she’d implied it. Now, the subject gets her no response. “What happened?” she tries instead.

“It broke.” Following Kakashi’s gaze Hermione sees the pitchfork laying in two pieces by his feet. It’s old and worn, one of the tines crooked and the wood grey and cracked.

“Okay,” she says, _without_ sighing, “I’m sure Sunna and Þorir will get you a new one.” A crease is forming between her eyebrows, Hermione can feel it, but she smooths it away. Attempts to look relaxed despite Kakashi watching nothing but his boots. She’s not sure she understands what this is about. From what little she’s seen his employers don’t strike her as the kind of people to get angry over a broken tool.

“There’s one down by the door.” Kakashi’s words are matter of fact. The motion he does to look at the pitchfork in question is the smallest possible. Hermione traps her tongue between her front teeth. There’s milking in less than two hours, and he’s not the only one who’s tired. Unclear dream has woken her over and over during the night, leaving her with a queasy feeling and a healthy dose of anxiety of her own.

“And you couldn’t make yourself go get it?” He shrugs. “Maybe that’s a sign to call it a day?” She doesn’t have the energy for this, not really. Annoyance is writhing in the pit of her stomach, but she squashes it down.

“The plan was to get done with this today,” Kakashi tells her. He looks up at her properly, forces something like normalcy onto his face.

“Does it matter?” Hermione can’t help but ask.

“Yes.” There’s a hard quality to Kakashi’s voice, like iron. Hermione swallows a sigh. It’s tiredness and PMS, she tells herself, she shouldn’t let it affect her. Should definitely not be taking it out on Kakashi.

“How about this then?” she forces herself to say casually. “I’ll go get you that pitchfork. Then I go back to my place, change to more fitting clothes, grab another pitchfork, and come back to help out?” She won’t be able to keep the mood up for both of them, not for long, but maybe she can fake it until she makes it. Or he does.

Kakashi’s head dips down again. Around him dust swirls like tiny snowflakes in the diluted sunshine from a dirty window. Under the black mask Kakashi’s chin is working, but nothing is said. It’s been a long time since he was like this, way back before he started on anti-depressants. Hermione wonders what brought it out now. He’s seemed good these last days, recuperated from whatever got to him up on the mountain almost two weeks ago.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hermione reaches across the pit between them, places a hand where Kakashi’s arm meets his shoulder and lets her thumb rub across the joint. The muscles are tense under her fingers, but unmoving.  After a few seconds she withdraws and goes to get the pitchfork. It’s too bad on the chocolate, but she’ll survive. Kakashi looks like he needs her help more than she craves sugar and cocoa. Coming back, she takes his side of the open hatch, crouches down and stabs the pitchfork down into the pile at Kakashi’s feet. He doesn’t react.

“Hey,” Hermione says, her hand finding its way back to Kakashi’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, we’ll fix it. It’s only a pile of crap.” The smile she presses her lips into is close to painful, and completely wasted since Kakashi isn’t looking. It feels like she’s pumping what energy she has straight into a black hole.

The feeling is unfair, she knows. Because he found the energy for her, for weeks. Let her wake him in the middle of the night without complaining. Let her cry on him, no matter how uncomfortable that must have made him. He’s still sleeping on a mattress on her living room floor for Merlin’s sake. He’s allowed to be a black hole for a few hours, because without him she wouldn’t have the energy to lose to it. She’d still be weeks behind on rest and jacked up from fear.

It's just, he’s having the worst timing for it.

A small crystal sphere catches Hermione’s eyes as it falls from Kakashi’s face. It reflects the sunlight, shining bright against his dark clothes. For a second, it feels like the time stops. Okay. She needs to re-evaluate this. Clearly, she’s been missing something vital. This is more than tiredness. Forcing her attention away from her own heavy body and tight chest for a minute she studies Kakashi’s profile. His face is hidden from the way he sits, but the listlessness is in his every angle. Like something in him gave up.

Hermione moves the hand on Kakashi’s shoulder to his back, placing it between his shoulder blades. Kakashi hunches down a few more inches and presses his wrists against his forehead. “You should go,” he says, voice calm. Through his back Hermione can feel how measured his breaths are, but also the stutter of his heartbeat.  

“Yeah?” There’s shopping to be done, cows to milk, and a trip to be prepared. And by the looks of it Kakashi won’t be much help. She scratches her ear. Giving in to his wish is tempting, but she’s not convinced leaving now is the right thing.

“Yes.” He answers, dead certain.

Crouching in her jeans is cutting the blood flow to Hermione’s legs, but she’s not prepared to move, not yet. “What if I don’t?” she asks. She might be coming on too strong, she knows, but deciding to stay unfortunately hasn’t turned her into a saint. Just because her dedication trumps her edginess it can’t magically take it away.

“Is it necessary to turn this into a fight?” Annoyance is lacing Kakashi’s voice and a muscle in his back flex under Hermione’s palm. She wonders if she’s supposed to listen to him and walk away, but he hasn’t made a single move to get away from her touch.  Is in fact leaning into it more since he lowered his head and added to the curve of his back.

“Why?” she asks instead of responding, making an effort to keep her voice calm and soft. He hasn’t failed to answer her questions yet, hasn’t backed up his words with actions, or repeated his request. “Give me one reason.”

“Shinobi don’t show tears.” The answer comes out squashed, forced out between clenched teeth. It feels like Hermione’s ribcage is ripped wide open. This place here, in between being let in and shut out, makes the world harsh and barren. Isolated. She’s allowed to know, but not to help, and that’s an impossible thing to reconcile with. The grain of frustration in her abdomen is watered with pain.

“I can close my eyes.” It slips out in a moment of inattention. A literal solution to a problem that is anything but, and not at all the right thing to say. Shit. She needs to learn to watch her tongue. Her own tiredness and bad mood are not an excuse to be a sarcastic asshole.

Kakashi doesn’t walk away. He doesn’t get angry or snap at her. To Hermione’s bewilderment he laughs instead. Desperately. With a voice full of cracks and his arms hiding his face. It’s enough to draw a smile to Hermione’s face. Maybe, sarcasm is an acceptable response after all? That’s what he usually requires anyway; not a shoulder to cry on but distraction to anchor him. They are not the same, and who is she to say her way of dealing is the better one?

Withdrawing her hand from Kakashi’s back and returning it to his shoulder Hermione gives him a light shove. “It’s not my fault it’s phrased like that,” she says. “I _told you_ it’s a stupid rule.”

And from one second to the next; Kakashi breaks.

.oOo.

He’s losing it. Everything. Obviously. Can’t even make himself stand up. Stares at the broken pitchfork and wonders when he sat down. It’s a genjutsu. Must be. Disrupt his chakra flow. Bring it down, then… Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing is responding. Not his chakra. Not his legs. Not his willpower. There’s no fear. Only empty weariness and a sense he should be doing something. Anything. More.

Moving is possible, he knows. He breathes. Blinks. Lifts his arm to wave away a fly. But he can’t make himself get up and get the new pitchfork by the door.

Hermione shows up, because of course she does. He was supposed to meet her, later. Or earlier, given her reaction. He hears his own answers to her question and find them ridiculous. How is he supposed to run a village when he can’t even do this?

She offers to help. Doesn’t. Get. It. Because this is nothing. He can’t need help with this. But Hermione is Hermione. Kind. Present. Spouting some nonsense about how they’ll fix it. Like this shit ends with the pile in front of him. Like tools don’t break, and if they do you discard them and get new ones. Like he won’t be digging through the upcoming mess with his bare hands and lives on the line.

Tears form. Fall. He can’t think clearly enough to find that detached place inside him to stop them. Pretends they don’t exist instead. Tries, and fails, to drive Hermione away. She knows. Can’t not know, but still jokes with him. The laughter boils in him, painful and soothing at the same time. The numbness falls apart. It hurts. Everything. He can’t breathe. Realizes he’s sobbing. Shouldn’t be. Can’t remember ever doing that for his parents. Or his teammates. Or anything else. Over a broken pitchfork that doesn’t even matter. Then cries because of that. It’s absurd. _He’s_ absurd. Insane. Apparently.

Arms circle him. Draw him in. He should protest and shake them off. Regain his dignity. Leans in instead. If he’s already lost his mind, what does it matter?

.oOo.

Hermione realizes she never honestly thought Kakashi would get to the point of crying. Not in front of her. He’s been fighting it too stubbornly, and it’s in his mindset to win his battles or die trying. She does know, however, that she’s not always right – no matter what anyone says.

There’s not much she can say, so she pulls him into a hug. That he goes with it tells her everything she needs to know. For a moment, her anxiety shifts into fear. What if this is more than she can handle? They haven’t known each other that long, and she has no idea what’s dragging Kakashi down. This is nothing like the heart of the DA leaning on each other after the war, taking turns to be the strong one. With Kakashi she’s alone, and possibly far out of her depth. Not that it matters either way, because she has no intention of leaving. If she’d let her fears run her life, nothing would ever get done.

Time loses its sense of meaning, it has a way of doing that. At one point, Hermione moves them the two feet to lean against the wall. The plaster is cold, contrasting the warmth from Kakashi at her side. He’s curled up against her, knees drawn close to his body and head resting halfway on Hermione’s chest and halfway on his own legs. When he calms down wetness has seeped through Hermione’s sweater, making the t-shirt she wears underneath sticky against her skin.

“You want to talk about it?” Hermione’s words feel loud in the silent building, no matter how softly she speaks them. There’s no answer, because of course there isn’t. Only a minute twitch followed by Kakashi going still. “You don’t have to.” She gives in to the urge to run her fingers through his hair where it tickles against her throat. It’s softer than it looks, sliding effortlessly through her fingers with the lack of styling products to keep it in place. A shaky breath leaves Kakashi and Hermione lets her hand rest at his neck for a moment before repeating the motion. He swallows.

Staying in place, she gives Kakashi whatever time he needs. Lets him rest against her and feels the tension slowly seep out of his muscles. His ball loosens up, his breaths even out, and more and more of his weight transfers to Hermione. She’s worried that once he’s reminded where he is, walls will slam down hard enough to fling them apart. A quieter, embarrassed part of her, is also worried that the opposite will happen; that she’ll never get him back the way he was. Closing her eyes, Hermione tries to plan ahead, playing out scenarios and searches for her next steps. It’s impossible, she knows, only a theoretical exercise to make her feel less lost, but it at least gives her a start.

.oOo.

Hermione doesn’t say a thing about it. Except for asking if he wants to talk. As if he’d know what to say.

Following that, she acts like nothing ever happened, only bossier. Orders him to his feet, walks him inside, has him take a shower. After, with a clean mask and eyes that no longer sting it gets easier to pretend. For both of them. Kakashi doubts he’s doing a good job, knows he’s not following Hermione’s chatter like he should, but can’t make himself care. He hasn’t felt this washed out and lightheaded since he landed himself in the hospital after overusing Kamui.

The urge to crawl into his own bed, behind a closed door, is almost too strong to resist. Kakashi wants to disappear from the world. Cease to exist. At least for a little while. He definitely doesn’t want to look Hermione in the eye, or catch her watching him. Which she does. He knows she does. But she needs his presence to feel safe, and this is not the time to further inconvenience her. This is giving him a debt to her he’s not sure he can repay as it is.

.oOo.

Over the course of milking Hermione begins to accept the fact that she might not get to see the midnight sun. It’s a selfish thought, and she would have preferred to not have it, but it’s not leaving. Considering the hollowness Kakashi had displayed as she herded him home she doubts he’ll be going anywhere tonight, and she will not leave him behind. Not today. Not by choice. The midnight sun comes around every year, she tells herself, she’s got plenty of summers left to come back and experience it. Kakashi on the other hand, feels like he might slip through her fingers any moment. The thought alone pours ice through her veins.

Working with animals, she does her best to keep her thoughts and feelings in check. Cattle are surprisingly susceptible to emotions, and even with her calm outward appearance they call her out; restlessly shifting their weight and working against her in small ways. When one of the cows who keeps kicking the machine off refuses to move her hind legs close enough together to be tied up, Hermione can’t help the groan that escapes her throat.

“Bad day?” Kristín asks her from across the aisle.

Hermione sighs and coordinates an attack where she leans into the cow’s thigh with her shoulder and uses her knee to try and force the leg into place. It gives her an inch, no more. “Just PMS,” she tells Kristín, and it’s not a lie. Not that it’s the whole truth either. Another attack and the leg finally moves into place. Hermione grabs the rope she has slung across her shoulder.

“We don’t have a lot left,” Kristín says, “once we’ve finished, I’ll take the feeding and clean up the milk room.”

Hermione tries to protest, but it gets her nowhere. Kristín simply lets her know it’s not a discussion and Hermione can pay her back when she’s feeling better. Fighting her requires energy, so Hermione doesn’t.

Being let out early means Hermione can afford a minute outside her front door. From the barn she can hear the rumble of the low tractor they use to dole out hay, meaning Kristín is away from the windows and can’t see her. There is no way to tell what shape Kakashi is in before entering. Although, _if_ he’s closed off enough to act normal once again, she might still get to go and see the midnight sun. Guilt washes over her at the thought. Surely, she shouldn’t hope he will hide how he feels for that reason alone? It’s selfish and unfair.

Only, she’s tired. And postponing this until tomorrow might not be so bad? She wants him to trust her, wants to be let in, and she’ll take tonight if that’s what offered; but that doesn’t mean she can’t _prefer_ another time, can it? Shame threatens to drown her. It’s not even how she really feels. If he needs her, nothing else is more important. Merlin, PMS really fucks her up. No wonder she gets anxious with the way her mind works in overdrive, tripping itself up over every little thing.

Kakashi, though. He matters. More than her own comfort or any view, no matter how pretty. Definitely more than her PMS-induced self-pity and issues with changed plans. He’s her friend, and he might need her. There should be no hesitation before stepping inside. She’s a Gryffindor after all, she was not raised to avoid difficulties.

As it turns out, there’s no crisis to avert. Kakashi is seated on the couch with one of his books, his head bobbing in response to Hermione’s greeting. She takes the chance to slip into the shower. If they’re going it’s not for another three or four hours, and either way she wants the smell of cow washed off her skin. That it also saves her from having to figure out what to do about Kakashi for another fifteen minutes is only a coincidence.

Dropping into an armchair and pulling her legs up under her, Hermione scrolls through the news on her phone. She’s directly opposite Kakashi, and while her fingers automatically navigate the feed her eyes are only half on the screen. The rest of her is watching what’s visible of her friend. His eyes are trained on the book, but as far as she can tell they’re not moving. Over a minute floats by, the clock on the upper corner of the screen informs her, but not a single page is turned.

That sort of answers her unasked question about whether they’re still on for tonight.

It’s not until he looks up at her, one eyebrow raised, that Hermione realised he can probably tell he’s being watched. Heat spreads across her face and she wraps one arm around her ribcage. Kakashi’s eyebrow twitch upward in an obvious question. Hermione shrugs. “I was just thinking,” she explains, “about how you are, and if I need to worry.” She keeps the question out of her voice, not wanting to pressure him. No more than a few hours have gone by since he said he didn’t want to talk about it, but it’s impossible to just leave it be. Not when his face is so empty and his eyes so flat.

“No,” Kakashi says, the muscles around his eyes tensing slightly with the word, “you don’t have to worry. I’m perfectly able to do my job. You’ll be safe.” For a full second, Hermione can’t breathe. A sour taste is spreading through her mouth, refusing to be swallowed down. She closes her eyes, but it doesn’t take away the burn of Kakashi’s stare.

“Tell me that’s not the only reason you’re here?” she manages. Forcing her eyes open she finds Kakashi’s face blank. “Shit.” She pushes her phone down between her leg and the armrest and rubs her hand over her eyes. “Okay. That’s not…” Meeting Kakashi’s eyes she takes a breath and tries to collect her thoughts. Why didn’t she tell him earlier? “Look,” she says, “it’s not your skills that make me want you around. Yes, I was scared, but it’s better, okay? It’s better, but I don’t want you to leave because I like having you here. Now, I understand if you don’t want to. And I’ll be okay, if that’s the case. Just, I’m _not_ a job, okay?”

Hermione doesn’t want to be calmly sitting here and meeting Kakashi’s gaze. She wants to scream, or cry, or a number of less dignified reactions, but she doesn’t. It’s unclear which is worse, that he might have been sticking around only out of a sense of duty, or that he believes she only wants him here to protect her.

“Please don’t leave though,” she tells him, even if he’s done nothing to indicate he will. He sits frozen, not a trace of his thoughts reaching his face. “I really don’t like the thought of you being alone right now.” It’s not until she hears it out loud that Hermione realizes that it might not have been the best thing to say.

A frown settles on Kakashi’s brow. “Why not?” he says, voice cool and distant. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, come on,” Hermione can hear her bad day taking over her voice, can pick out her exasperation as clear as her words, “you are _not fine_.” Not good. Didn’t she tell herself she was going to keep her own emotions out of this?

Opposite her, Kakashi’s eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. The blankness of his face morphs into the stillness of a predator assessing a threat. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His anger is hard and cold, leaving his tone even. “For me to fall apart? So you can be the well-adjusted one? Get to save me?”

Pulling her head back as if slapped, Hermione opens her mouth to answer. Closes it again. Tears are pooling in her eyes and she’s not sure if they’re from anger or hurt. Or if they’re solely for him. Either way she hates her own mercuriality. If she’s been born a boy she’d have been able to handle this better. Or not, given how boys aren’t raised to, but it’s still unfair.

“No,” she says when she finds her voice. It’s shaky. “It’s not what I want.” He only lashed out, she tries to convince herself, he didn’t mean it. “I want you to be happy. But I also want you to know you don’t have to hide when you’re not. That it doesn’t make you less of a person. And I don’t want you to shut me out.” Hermione pauses for air and makes a point of catching Kakashi’s eyes. “You’re my friend,” she tells him. “I’ve told you things no one else knows. I trust you, and I care about you.” Kakashi turns his face away, but Hermione’s come too far to consider backing down now. “I want to believe you when you say you’re okay,” she continues, “but I don’t. Now, you didn’t bat an eye when I needed you, why can’t it be allowed to go both ways?”

“What if it can’t?” It rips out of Kakashi, his voice rough in a way that not quite anger. When he turns back towards Hermione his eyes are dark. She opens her mouth to question the statement, and he answers before she can speak. “Because I’m a mess,” he says. “Who let people down.”

Kakashi’s book is still raised between them, his knuckles turning white from the grip. Hermione wants to tell him he’s never failed her, but she realizes that would be a lie. There are moments of inadequacy in every relationship, theirs included. “Who isn’t?” she says instead. “And who doesn’t? No one is infallible. I know for a fact I’ve hurt you, even if I never meant to. What matters is that when I really needed you, you were here. For me.” Hermione’s throat closes up. He didn’t allow her to protect him by pushing him away, yet he’s trying to do the same now. It’s all so incredibly stupid.

“I can’t talk about things the way you do,” Kakashi says. “I just can’t.” It’s close to a hiss, but Hermione focuses on the words, not the tone. He isn’t arguing her point, is he, only what it brings with it. Catching her lower lips between her teeth Hermione cocks her head slightly. It suddenly seems easy.

“So, _don’t_ ,” she tells him. “I’m fine with you not sharing your past, if that helps. Just let me be here for you now.”

The stillness that settles around Kakashi is of the kind that means he’s micromanaging. Hermione doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. As he watches her in silence Hermione notes how her heart beats much too fast in her chest. “I’m tired,” Kakashi finally says. “I’m going to bed.” It’s not even eight o’clock but Hermione sees no reason to point that out. She nods.

While Kakashi is in the bathroom Hermione takes the time to collect her thoughts. She has no idea how to judge her own actions today; her mind is still oscillating between irritation, sadness, guilt, and anxiety with the speed of lightning. She stands by her words though, as she recalls them, and maybe that’s all she can hope for.

Kakashi _cried_ today. Honestly, genuinely, _cried_. She needs time to process that; to sit down on her own and separate her emotions from the facts, to look at it logically. There has been room for little else but responding since she found him in the sheep house, having gone straight from there to work and then back here. Maybe, she went at him harsher than necessary this evening considering he’s clearly letting her in, if not as fast as she’d like. At the same time, she’s gotten an important revelation of her own in their last conversation: She can live without knowing the whys as long as he doesn’t bury the effects. The curious side of her, the one that needs the whole puzzle to understand the picture, balks at the idea, but the rest agrees. She can survive without the details, if that’s what Kakashi needs. It’s better than the option.

.oOo.

Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu – Kakashi sits on the closed toilet seat and lets his hands work the familiar seals. Again and again. Over and over. Goes through the motions until his mind is empty. Until he can keep the sensation of signing even without moving his arms. He stands then. Brushes his teeth. He’s done with this day.

Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi – for a long time it’s been his escape when his mind refuse to shut up. If he can fall asleep in between watches on a mission, he can fall asleep now. He’s done with this day.

Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru – Hermione’s still in the living room when Kakashi exits the bathroom. He should go back to his room at Heimstaðir, but can’t make himself do much of anything. This bed is the closer one. Hermione is talking to him, and he hears the words but files them away for later. He’s done with this day.

Tatsu, Ne, Tori –his mind stutters momentarily on the bird seal. Snake’s next, he reminds himself, – Mi, Ushi, Inu – “Listen,” Hermione continues, “You’ll be leaving in less than three months, and it will hurt. Terribly. And maybe that will get worse with more time, but this – you clinging to your distance – it hurts as well. I can’t breathe for it. And I’m not saying that to make you go now, I’m telling you I’d rather get what time’s left and take all the pain later.”

Mi, Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi, Inu, Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji – Kakashi keeps his focus on the seals. Doesn’t even try to decode Hermione’s tone and body language. Doesn’t let her words be anything but a meaningless string of sounds. He’ll think about it later. Along with everything else. Right now, he can’t allow himself to. He’ll go insane for sure. If he isn’t already. It’s this day though. Only this day. And he’s done with it. Tomorrow will be different. It must be.

Uma, Tora, I, Hitsuji, U, Saru, Tatsu – he drifts off to the rhythm of the basic seals and dreams of training and battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. Let me know what you think!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you!
> 
> I just… Wow! I. Love. You. Like, so, SO much, and I can’t even figure out how to say it right. Just know I do. Your response after last chapter really turned my day (and week, and coming week) around. I managed to do a lot of stuff I had to get done, I feel more hopeful about ever getting a new job, and I’ve been writing too. It’s all thanks to you, and I’m incredibly grateful. Now that I’ve published this, I plan on taking the time to answer all of you individually.
> 
> I meant to have this published over a week ago, but on the other hand it’s twice as long as I had planned, so maybe that’s a fair trade. I hope you like it.

“I can’t get up.” Kakashi isn’t meeting Hermione’s eyes as he says it, is staying turned to the wall. Hermione is back from milking, has had time to change clothes and wash her hands, and he’s still in bed. On a workday. It’s not a good sign, especially after the day before, Hermione knew that before she knelt by the side of his mattress. What she’d never have guessed is that he’d be the one to speak first, saving her the trouble of coming up with an opening.

“Okay,” she answers, her gut tightening from something more painful than the already present hunger. “Should I call a doctor?”

What little she sees of Kakashi’s right eye disappears behind the eyelid as it closes. He huffs. “I doubt they could help.” The words are matter of fact. “It’s either a genjutsu or…”

In the silence Hermione allows herself to reach out. Grasping his shoulder, she tugs lightly. He lets her, rolls over on his back, but his face remains turned away. “Or?” she prods. She’s beginning to suspect she knows what this is about, recognizes the signs even if she herself always made it out of bed and to the couch. There were others who weren’t as lucky, but she hadn’t been the one to deal with them. For the first time she wishes she’d found out from Hanna, Ernie, or Susan exactly how they’d handled Neville for the month he couldn’t stand on his own, but when it was a thing she hadn’t been much help to anyone.

“Am I going crazy?” It’s not quite a whisper. Through the mask Hermione can see tension run from Kakashi’s jaw down the tendons of his neck.

Allowing herself the space of one inhale, Hermione collects her thought. “I don’t think it’s a genjutsu,” she starts, “although you would know that better than me. Nor do I think you’re going crazy.” Hermione lets the hand still resting on Kakashi’s shoulder trace his arm under the comforter. “I think,” she continues, “that you’ve been through a lot of crazy things, and that this is a pretty sane response to that. I also sort of believe that sometimes our lives undermine the foundation that we’ve built them on, and it becomes inevitable for it to come crashing down. I think it needs to, so we can stop trying to keep the pieces together and focus on getting better for real.”

Hours of manual labour has brought callouses to Hermione’s hands, and they snag on the fine fabric of Kakashi’s combined mask and sleeveless shirt as she comes back up and runs a distraught finger along his collarbone. It’s an intimate gesture, too intimate between friends most likely, but he doesn’t shy away. Instead, he turns his head towards her, and Hermione moves the hand to rest against the side of his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek. Above it, eyelids twitch tighter together, and tears roll noiselessly down his temples. It’s a different kind of crying from what Hermione saw yesterday, a deeper sort of weariness and sorrow. This, she thinks, is capitulation. She swallows, and thanks her lucky stars she is stronger today or she’d be crying as well. “It gets better from here,” she tells him, praying to a god she does not believe in that she isn’t lying.  

“How would you know?” Kakashi questions, because of course he does. He opens his eyes while waiting for the answer, searching for something in her face. Hermione gives him the tiniest of smiles, no more than a flutter of the corners of her mouth.

“It did for me.” She shrugs. “When I finally gave up trying to hold together the person I had been before things happened, and moved on to figuring out who I was after.  And it hurt. God, some of it _still_ hurts, but it’s easier to deal with now, and it’s more good and less bad these days.”  A few tears escape when Hermione blinks, but there’s no calling them back. Her chest feels constricted and is filled with a writhing mass that makes her nauseous. “Just stop trying to go back or remain in place, and start fighting to move forward and you’ll be fine, okay?”

Kakashi nods, a little wide-eyed, and Hermione swipes at her eyes and offers him a small smile. “Now scoot over,” she says. A wrinkle appears between Kakashi’s eyebrows at the command, but he complies. Hermione slides down next to him, inserts an arm between his neck and the pillow, and draws him in. He melts into the contact, boneless and pliant in a way that’s all wrong but not entirely bad. It’s warm under his comforter, and cosy. The perfect antidote to PMS if she’s perfectly honest. “To get back to the subject,” she says into his hair, “you don’t have to get up. I’m good right here, and I’m not leaving.”

It’s sappy, she knows, but maybe a little sappiness can be allowed. Sometimes. And for a short period.

Apart from crying herself, she thinks she handled this okay. The risk is that her tears freaked Kakashi out, making him think that helping him is hurting her. It’s the kind of angsty thought that won’t leave her alone if she doesn’t deal with it. “For your information,” she tells him, “I’m fine, even if I’m crying. Don’t worry about me. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be the composed one here, and I am, sort of. I just got some really badly timed PMS.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Kakashi answers, taking the bait of distraction. Hermione can’t help the chuckle that escapes her. How many times hasn’t she used the word, only to find out _now_ he doesn’t know what it is. She shouldn’t be surprised though, not really. Harry and Ron hadn’t known either, once upon a time. In some ways school failed them extensively when it came to education. 

“It stands for PreMenstrual Syndrome,” she says, “and it can be different things, but what most people mean is the mood changes before the period. Like, things that I’d normally be able to bottle up just goes spilling all over the place. Like, my walls come down for a full two days. I can’t brush anything aside, whether it’s things that make me angry or sad or hurt or happy; and anyone of them can make me cry. The worst is if it happens in the middle of a fight, because then I’m just an overemotional girl who has a fit, no matter how valid my point is.”

Kakashi glances up at her, and she can see how he’d have a hard time finding a response. She offers him a small smile. “Really,” she says, “don’t worry about it, it’ll pass. Just know that if I’m reacting funnily right now that’s the reason. It just sucks being a woman sometimes.” Hermione disentangles one of her hands to remove a wayward wisp of hair from her face. “Although,” she adds as an afterthought, “I guess guys don’t get menstrual hubris, which is too bad for you.”

“And what is that?” Kakashi asks, reluctantly. He looks tired, and sounds uncomfortable, and maybe this wasn’t the conversation he needed right now. Well, Hermione thinks, though luck for him, some knowledges are simply required for everyone to have.

“That’s what hits after the PMS, when the anxiety passes, and it feels like you can do anything. It’s pretty awesome.” Her smile this time is the real deal, she could definitely do with some confidence and hopefulness right now, and it’s nice to remind herself it’s coming.

Nothing more is said, and the warmth combined with the rhythm of Kakashi’s breathing at her side is dragging Hermione down. She should probably stay awake, make sure to be here if Kakashi needs her, but she’ll hear if he speaks, won’t she? Just a light doze shouldn’t hurt.

.oOo.

Kakashi has no idea what to make of Hermione most of the time, and now is not an exception. Not that he knows what to make of much of anything at the moment. Having just learnt about PMS, he knows he should want to revisit a few memories and look at them in this new lightning, but he doesn’t. Can’t make himself interested in the explanations it might bring. He feels numb, and not in a good way. Like he’s lost the ability to care about things. It’s a cold sensation, all consuming and paralyzing. And maybe that’s why he told Hermione the truth about how he’s doing; because nothing really matters anyway.

_Start fighting to move forward_ , Hermione told him, but Kakashi doesn’t know how to find the motivation for any more fighting. Not when he needs to pee but can’t find the will to get up and go to the bathroom. Although that’s mostly Hermione’s fault at this point. Having her next to him chases away some of the coolness and being curled into her side makes the paralysation seem more like relaxation. Like laying here in the middle of the day can be a choice, not a failing. It’s nice to be able to pretend, if only for a little while.

She doesn’t think he’s going insane. That’s good at least. Not that she’s necessarily right, about that or the genjutsu, but there where things she said that he wishes he’d have a clearer memory off. Something about being so focused on building yourself up that you miss the ground under you crumbling. Because that’s what he’s done, isn’t it? Has had everything threaten to fall apart around him and solved it by simply covering the unstable parts up with more work and more training. Until he found himself on a pillar so high there was no way to get down, and suddenly realized it’s bound to topple over.

Is this, now, the sense of falling then? The painless plummeting towards the ground? Or is it, like Hermione said, the _after_?

Kakashi can’t make himself bring it up. Not now. He knows he will at some point, because he needs to be sure, but not now. His mind has been sluggish since yesterday, empty enough to leave Hermione’s words and actions echoing in there. Further thought can wait until he’s able to direct his brain with any precision. For now, the heavy, unmovable feeling that’s been dominating his life since yesterday is being overtaken by weightlessness. It’s tugging at him, pulling him in, and he’s slept over twelve hours already but they were cold. This is not cold.

The only other occasions he can remember it being this impossible to stay awake, he’s come to in the hospital. He hopes he won’t this time as well. As if he has a choice either way. Unconsciousness retakes him, but this time there’s no dreams.

.oOo.

Before stepping through the front door to Kristín and Ingo’s house for lunch, Hermione calls Jón. She didn’t think she’d be able to get him on the phone, but as luck gives it, he’s not with a patient.

Introducing herself is awkward and complicated, especially since Jón lets her know that he can’t confirm having any patients, nor would he talk about them if he had them. Hermione sighs. “Alright,” she says, “I understand that, but maybe you could just listen? Kakashi has an appointment with you at two PM today, I know this, because I’m the one driving him. Either way, he’s not coming because he fell apart to the point where he’s curled up in bed, only barely able to go to the bathroom. And I won’t be able to get him dressed and into the car, not today. Obviously he needs to be rescheduled, and when you do that your system will send an automatic text, to this phone, so you don’t have to say anything. Just reschedule him.” Hermione can her that frustration in her own voice and knows that Jón is likely to do so as well. It’s not that she doesn’t get why he’s being difficult, but she’s late for lunch, and Kakashi’s on his own, and…

“I hear you,” Jón says. “How are you doing in all this? Caring for a friend in need can be hard.”

The good thing about speaking on the phone is that Hermione can make a face without being seen. “I’ve got my own therapist, thanks,” she answers, and she knows it’s ungrateful. “I’ll be fine,” she adds, attempting to soften the worst edges.

“Okay,” Jón sounds unruffled. “Has your friend shown any signs he might harm himself?”

Dragging her free hand over her eyes Hermione hisses. “Shit,” she says, “I didn’t ask. I mean he doesn’t seem to have the motivation, but you know about his dad, right?” The question is met with silence on the other end. “He killed himself, when Kakashi was five, leaving him an orphan?” Hermione shuts herself up by biting her lip, hard. “And if you didn’t know that I just really broke his trust. Fuck. Please pretend I never said anything.” She should get back to Kakashi, should make sure he’s alright instead of spilling his secrets left and right. Jón might be his therapist, but that doesn’t give Hermione any automatic right.

“I must have temporarily spaced out,” Jón says, “I have no idea what your talking about.” It’s not true, obviously, and Hermione hopes Kakashi never decides to read his own medical journal because this will be in there, but it’s nice that Jón is trying. “Look,” Jón continues, “I have to go, but I’ve recently had a cancellation come up this afternoon. I’ve also got time for administration my last hour on Fridays, so if you tell me where your friend is staying, I can come by. How about that?”

Great, now Hermione feels like crying. She can’t wait for the cramps to set in; those she can at least medicate away. “You don’t have to,” she tells Jón. It’s his job after all, he shouldn’t get personally invested in his clients.

“No,” he agrees, “I don’t have to, but I’m offering. Now, what’s the address?” Hermione realizes she has no idea. “Call back to the reception and leave it with them,” Jón says, “and I’ll be by at around half past two.”

.oOo.

With Kakashi’s permission, Jón tells Hermione it’s probably some kind of delayed stress reaction. Not that Hermione hadn’t figured that out on her own already. “He doesn’t come off as suicidal,” Jón also says, “nor likely to do anything actively self-harming, but that might change.”

Hermione nods. There’s a tightness in her throat that hasn’t left all day. “I figured as much,” she answers, “I asked him after lunch.” A shrug finds its way to her shoulders and she turns away from Jón’s thoughtful look.

“There is the option of making him an inpatient,” Jón tells her.

Completely reigning in the glare turns out to be impossible, but Hermione does her best. “Do you think that would be beneficial?” She wants what best for Kakashi, she really does, but she’s never been admitted to a psych ward herself, and she reels at the thought of leaving Kakashi surrounded by strangers who know nothing about him.

“For him?” Jón answers, “no. Not at this time. But the option is there, just so you know.”

“Noted.” Hermione forces a smile. He’s only trying to be considerate, not derogative. “So, where to now?”

“I told him to call in sick for all of next week, and I want to see him again Monday and Thursday if that works with you. If he’s not gotten any better by then we’ll need to re-evaluate and possibly get a physician involved.” It sounds like a fair deal, Hermione thinks, so she nods. They’re standing outside, by Jón’s car, and the cold is beginning to get to her. She’s meant to be milking in fifteen minutes.

“Thank you.” Hermione means it. “You’ve gone above and beyond for this, and I…” she bites her lip, “just thanks, okay?”

“Don’t be too grateful,” Jón smiles, “he’ll be paying for my time driving here so it was a good deal for me, I’ll even be home earlier than usual.” He narrows his eyes. “If it gets too much, or if you get worried that he might harm himself or someone else, you bring him in. The ER is open 24-7, and if you can’t get him in the car, you call an ambulance. Alright?”

“I know the drill,” Hermione answers.

Jón catches her eyes for a second. “I’m beginning to understand that,” he says.

.oOo.

Kakashi thinks he’d be scared, if he had the energy for it. He’s not. The world around him feels unreal, like a poorly executed genjutsu that’s too easy to spot. Fuzzy. Echoing. Empty. At the same time: Sharp. Loud. Intrusive. Time passes in slow motion once he’s in it, but in hindsight hasn’t passed at all. Maybe that’s what he gets for motionlessly watching the same piece of wall every minute he’s alone. Turning his head makes the room spin around him, and it’s not like the other walls are much different from this one.

Talking to Jón had been exhausting. He’s used to speaking English by now, has done so for months, but the words are hiding from him today. It doesn’t help that he needs to take care not to divulge anything he isn’t supposed to. Nor does it help that tears keep forming in his eyes when he fails to answer Jón’s questions.

He knows, afterwards, that Jón said some intelligent things. He just can’t remember them. Should have written them down probably. It’s impossible to focus like this, his mind flowing over the surface of thoughts and subjects without being able to grab onto any single one. It feels like betrayal.

The armchair he moved to before Jón came is comfortable enough. He doesn’t have to go back to bed. Can’t make himself get up either way. Drifts instead, no quite awake but not asleep either. Hermione’s steps across the floor registers, but if she thinks he’s sleeping she won’t talk to him. Not until the steps come closer and a blanket settles over Kakashi’s shoulders does he realize he was cold.

“I’m going out to work,” Hermione tells him before the steps move away. For a second Kakashi feels a stab of disappointment that she kept her hands to herself, then an overwhelming guilt for wanting more from her. He’s supposed to be stronger than that. Than _this_. For as long as he remembered he hasn’t needed anyone to soothe him. Why start now?

The respite of sleep he’s hoping for doesn’t come. Instead his heart is hammering in his ears, much too fast considering he’s stationary, and there’s a jittery feeling in his arms and legs screaming at him to move. As if he stands a chance of finding energy for activity.

Of course, half-sleeping through the afternoon means Kakashi snaps awake at two o’clock in the night. He tries to go back under, to will himself into unconsciousness the way he would in between guard shifts, but nothing works. Not even meditating keeps his mind quiet for very long unless he focuses on actual movement, and he can’t fall asleep _while_ signing. Which is probably just as well, because if his attention wandered and chakra leaked into the seals there’d be a world of trouble.

When the itch to escape gets impossible to ignore and the air in the living room feels like ash, Kakashi forces himself out of bed and into the kitchen. The book he brings is a decent distraction, but the storyline is getting a bit too familiar, leaving room in his mind for the shadows of other things.

In his chest, the churning feeling doesn’t go away.

Kakashi presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. Sleeping is out. Meditation doesn’t cut it. Reading isn’t enough. If he moves around too much, he’s bound to wake Hermione. Which might be good, actually, since she could distract him, but also _not good_. She’d been tired this evening, perfectly visible even through the haze, and it’d be selfish of Kakashi to want more of her at this point. Only, he doesn’t know what to do.

Or does he? Several times, Hermione’s told him she writes to clear out her mind when things get too much. Even Jón has suggested Kakashi finds some way to express himself, as horribly artsy as he made it sound. A memory of Hermione comes to mind. None of the identifying markers to put it in a context remain, but she told Kakashi she writes to figure out what she’s thinking. And isn’t that exactly what he wants? Some kind of order in the chaos that’s his mind?

The grain of hopeful inspiration lasts until Kakashi is back at the table with a notebook and pen. He stares at the blank page in front of him and feels just as vacant himself. How is he supposed to determine what to write? This is stupid, he doesn’t do things like this. Whatever you are thinking, Hermione’s voice tells him, and Kakashi takes a breath. Entangles his left hand in his hair and props his head up.

He writes that he has no idea what to write, and that this is all dumb anyway.

Three hours later Kakashi’s hand is aching, and he’s at the point where his mind can’t come up with a single thought. Hermione will be up in less than an hour, and he’d rather not have her find him here. Besides, he’s tired now.

Burying the papers in the bottom of his bag to get rid of later, Kakashi admits to himself writing might not have been completely useless. When he lays down, he falls asleep within minutes.

.oOo.

On Saturday, it already feels like they’re settling into a new routine. Hermione comes in from milking, washes up, wolfs down a banana, and crawls into bed with Kakashi. They sleep for another hour. It will mess up her nights, Hermione knows, but it’s irresistible. She’s really missed lying next to someone, and the deep peace that settles over her for that hour makes her sleep heavy and dreamless. If she dared, she’d suggest they share a bed over night as well, but that’s more than she can possibly explain away as being for Kakashi’s sake.

After breakfast they move to the couch and Hermione watches movies and tv series. Kakashi follows them occasionally and dozes off from time to time. It’s nice. Perfect. Or it would be if Kakashi wasn’t a wreck and Hermione didn’t have a tight knot of worry sitting in her chest.

.oOo.

It’s Kakashi who brings the subject of the midnight sun back up, right before Hermione goes out for her evening work on Sunday. She tells him it doesn’t matter, she’s not going to leave. Not right now. It’s not like she could enjoy it either way. He responds that if that’s the case he’s coming. Arguing gets her absolutely nowhere; people who calls _her_ stubborn has no idea what they’re talking about. “If you’re allowed to make the choice to stay at home for me,” Kakashi says, “I’m allowed to make the choice to go for you. I’ll walk if I have to.”

Hermione very much doubts he could, given he’s only marginally straightened up from his slouch on the sofa, but she ends up folding all the same. Not even the fact that they’ve probably missed the window of time helps, and Hermione is running out of arguments. Kakashi’s been coped up inside for days, who’s she to say he shouldn’t get out for a bit?

They go that same evening, the yellowing sun casting long shadows across the road where the valleys open to the north. Hermione plays Billie Eilish, and Kakashi is silently looking out the side window. Or sleeping, Hermione can’t tell from the quick glances she can afford while driving. With over an hour to the viewpoint, the music ends before they get there and leaves them with only the sound of the engine running and tires on asphalt. It’s a good album, perfect for the occasion, and Hermione is considering restarting it when Kakashi speaks.

“You said it gets better from here.” His voice is low and careful, and Hermione can see him fiddling with his hands. “But how do you know? If it’s about everything coming crashing down, how do I know I’m still not falling?”

“How do you mean?” Hermione wishes she could look at him properly, but maybe that limitation is exactly why he brought this up in the car.

“Falling doesn’t hurt,” he says, “the ground does. How do you know this isn’t just the moments before I break every bone in my body hitting it?” It’s a fair question, and Hermione hums as she thinks about it.

“I guess the metaphor has its weaknesses.” A quick look shows Kakashi watching the road in front of them. “I don’t think you’ll hit the ground as you put it, because I think it’s more like things blow apart in a single instance. I mean, I know I’m not a professional or anything, and I have no idea what Jón said, but for me it’s been like a switch.” She sucks her lips in between her teeth, changes gear, makes a turn, changes gear again, and goes on. “Why do you think you’re still falling?”

In the corner of her eye Hermione can see Kakashi shrugging. “Shouldn’t it be hurting?”

“Isn’t it?” Hermione can’t help but ask, because yes, he mostly seems tired, but that’s not all there is. Kakashi shrugs again, offering no more verbal response. A careful exhale lets Hermione avoid a sigh. It feels like she’s threading barefoot on a floor full of broken glass, with possible consequences far worse than a few cuts.

“I’ve had two major breakdowns,” she tells Kakashi, “and I can’t remember that part of them very well. I guess I was pretty out of it. I remember trying to keep it together before, and then sitting up in the rubble and wondering how to make any sense of it all.” Heaviness settles in her stomach, echoing emotions from a time she’d rather not think about. “If we’re sticking with the building-analogy there was so much tension keeping it together beforehand, and then that sort of snapped. After that…” She shakes her head lightly. Worries her lip. “Hitting the bottom came before the crash for me, I think. That's where you are desperate but can't cry, because you're keeping it all together. Once the equilibrium goes things are already on their way to get better. Or that’s how it was for me.”

“Falling didn’t hurt, landing didn’t hurt, but I knew if I put the pieces back the way they were nothing would get better,” she continues. “The thing is, there’s no way to leave anything behind, so to make a better building I had to really take a look at the jagged, unstable pieces. Fix them where I could, smooth out some edges, and then find a place for them to fit. Does that make any sense?” In the corner of her eye Hermione can see Kakashi nodding jerkily. “That part did hurt.” Her insides clench at the memory. “It was agony trying to find out what brought everything down, and even worse to go poking at it, but it was also cathartic. I came to some important realizations, and I’m not sure what I would have done without them. It’s not like I’m saying I’m glad it came to the point where I broke, but I’m not sure I’d ever have gotten better if I hadn’t, so… At least I understand myself better now.”

By Hermione’s side, Kakashi rubs a hand across his face, then leans back to look at the ceiling. “What if there’s too many broken pieces?” The question is almost whispered, barely carrying over the sound of the car. Hermione can’t contain a huff.

“ _Have you met me?_ ” she asks. “Obviously I haven’t fixed all of mine. Since I got to know you, I’ve had several minor breakdowns, which you should remember since you’ve been around for them.” The smile that finds its way to her lips isn’t exactly happy, but it’s light none the less. “You figure out what pieces you have to get in shape to start working again, slap some paint on shat you can, and make sure to place the rest of the messed-up ones so they don’t compromise the structure of the building too badly. Then you keep on working as well as you can on what you can get to, and keep going until the next thing comes crashing down. If you’re lucky and placed your pieces right its only a part of you, otherwise it all repeats itself.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Kakashi says, but his tone is dry. It’s a step up.

“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch,” Hermione tells him lightly. It’s not what you’re supposed to say to someone who you’re worried might get suicidal, but Hermione was never a very rose-coloured sugar-coating kind of person. Life, she realized years ago, will have its fair share of breakdowns and agony, but it’s the contrast that makes the beautiful moments really shine. Going numb enough to not notice the good things, that’s the scary part.

“Wow,” a smile can be heard in Kakashi’s voice, “I feel great now. Thank you.”

“Maa,” Hermione answers, mimicking Kakashi’s expression as well as his tone. “Aren’t you supposed to be a dog person?”

A startled laugh comes from the passenger seat, and Hermione feels like she just won the grand prize. “For your information they are _ninken_ , there’s a difference.” Kakashi’s mock glare is clear enough that Hermione catches it without looking at him.

A few minutes of easy bantering will make no drastic changes, this is not a wand that can be waved to make the mess go away, but laughing in the middle of chaos is allowed. Necessary even. The offset from the darkness around it only serves to make the light feel brighter. Providing a short respite in which breathing is easy again, and a reminder of how it’s supposed to be and why the fight is worth it. They let the subject carry them all the way to the parking lot by the viewpoint, Hermione arguing that Bitch should work just as well as Hound if you feel a need for codenames. For some reason Kakashi doesn’t agree.

.oOo.

There’s one good thing, Kakashi thinks, with no longer caring: Nothing matters. By now, he’s so far past breaching rule 25 that it might as well not exist. He’s not overly worried about it, however, because that would require using a substantial amount of emotional energy he doesn’t have.

Two nights ago, Hermione reminded Kakashi that he’ll be going home in three months and said she’d rather make that time count. In that moment he hadn’t been able to take in her words, but he’s thought about them since. As much as he thinks about anything. He will be going home, that’s a fact, and he will have to function then. Will need to pick up where he left off, with a war-torn village in an uncertain post-alliance world where the shinobi nations must figure out where to go next.

But he’s got three months, hasn’t he? Twelve weeks that will have to be enough to get him back on his feet and in fighting shape. He has no idea how it’s going to happen, only that it _must_. And that it, by necessity, will involve Hermione, and Jón. On his own, Kakashi has no idea where to even start. If he’s to have a chance at making it, he might have to play by their rules. Which is terrifying, as much as he feels such an emotion right now. Because Kakashi has no idea what those rules are, only that they don’t line up with the ones he’s used to.

Over half his life ago, Kakashi learnt the hard way that he’d been too focused on the mission coming first. If he could, he’d go back and change that, but he can’t. He’d taken the lesson from his father and Obito – too late, much too late – and had lived on by a new philosophy where he swore to never leave his friends behind. To never let them die. Which he’d failed at, spectacularly and utterly, and it makes him trash, it does, but at least he’s trying. He might not ever be good enough, but he’s been _trying_.

Only now, he’s beginning to wonder if there might be more than one kind of abandonment.

.oOo.

The sun does set, but shallow enough that its glow leaves a thin band of horizon on fire. There’s a haze to the air, no more than a drop of milk in a water glass, and pinks and oranges bleed through it onto every surface. It makes the stony landscape feel painted in warm watercolours; the work of a painter focusing on fantasy novel illustrations. Combined with the almost tangible ambient magic it makes the very air feel electric.

“Can you feel it?” Hermione asks, turning to Kakashi. They’re sitting backwards on the bench of a picnic table, leaning against the table top. Kakashi glances at her.

“Feel what?” he says, repositioning his elbow behind him.

“The magic.” Hermione closes her eyes and faces the sky, trying to figure out how to describe it. “It’s in the background,” she says, “not a smell or touch or anything, more like a feeling of weight. Or power.” She breathes in, lets it settle in her bones and calm her mind. “Non-magicals can feel it too, as well as witches and wizards I think, they just don’t have words for it since they’ve got no obviously magical places to compare against. It’s strong here, it reminds me of Hogwarts.”

When no answer comes Hermione glances over at Kakashi. He’s sitting with his eyes closed, the visible parts of his face relaxed. After what feels like a full minute he hums. She takes it as a yes.

“Why did you choose to go here?” he asks, then clarifies when Hermione fails to answer the broad question. “I get that it attracts tourists, but you choose to live here. For a year. Why not go someplace where you could do magic?” His right eye opens, and he turns to her. Hermione looks away.

“I don’t know.” She lets the question sink in. A few of her friends back home had asked the same thing, but she can’t remember what she answered. Probably as little as possible. “I guess I was just sick of everything that reminded me of my life,” she thinks out loud, “and the magical part especially. That whole community can just be so insular and prejudiced and brainless. It won’t matter that the right side won the war when they’re just exoticizing everything non-magical to the point where people like my parents are seen as a different species.” Hermione can feel anger rising inside her like a tide and wishes she had a kunai in her hands and a target to practice on. “Did you know,” she continues, “that several people told me I’d be ‘wasting my talent’ when I wanted a non-magical education. Because to them the magical community is the only one that counts.”

Midnight sun, Hermione reminds herself. That’s why she’s here. She should enjoy it, not be frustrated at the idiocy of the wizarding community. Forcing a deep breath down her lungs, she uncurls fists she can’t recall forming. The light is beautiful, with the sun beginning to peak over the horizon again and light clouds drifting over the sky. People’s thoughtless comments should not be allowed to destroy that.

Kakashi still hasn’t spoken, and Hermione looks over at him. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes locked somewhere in the distance. “What?” Hermione asks, and bumps her shoulder lightly against his.

“Nothing.” He turns to meet her eyes, the furrows gone but a contemplative tension remaining. “I was just wondering,” he says, “what it’s like for children from civilian families who become shinobi.”

It’s not at all the answer Hermione was expecting. She cocks her head. “Well,” she muses, “you are at least not completely cut off from regular life, are you? You do live in the same village.” From what Hermione’s gathered, the overlap between civilian and shinobi is far more extensive than the one between muggle and magical.

“We do,” Kakashi says, “and we aren’t, but I just...” A hand comes up to rub the back of Kakashi’s neck. “I never thought about it,” he admits, “even when I had Sakura as a genin.” A smile finds its way to Hermione’s lips. For a short while it seemed like he wasn’t really responding to her, that he’d changed the subject, and he _has_ in a way. But not because he didn’t listen, but because he did. Not only to what she was saying, but to what it meant.

“You could just ask her?” Hermione shrugs. “And if you’re going to be Hokage you might actually be able to do something if needed. Just don’t introduce some stupid elective class in school that studies civilians like you would magical creatures.”

“I’m sure no one with a mediocre amount of intelligence would do that.” Kakashi’s tone is dry. Hermione almost calls him out on the intelligence part, but reigns the reaction in.

“We had that,” she tells him instead and watches his eyebrows rise. “It was called muggle studies, and it taught children from thirteen and up important things like the existence of electricity.”

“They need to be told about electricity? At thirteen?” 

“Yep.” Hermione laughs at the way Kakashi’s hand come up to cover his eyes as he cringes. “That’s how closed off the magical society is,” she continues. “And at thirteen those kids would have been to school for two years with people from non-magical families. Who, I might add, isn’t given any kind of introduction to, or class about, things that are obvious to those with magical parents. So, we start out quite a bit behind.”

The older she gets; the weirder Hermione finds her one-hour meeting about being an honest-to-God witch and the practicalities of going or Hogwarts. At eleven, she’d already been an avid reader and that had helped, but there was too little written with muggleborns in mind for it to make up for much. If she was a little lost at first, she can’t imagine how her parents must have felt watching their only child get sucked up in a parallel world.

“How would you do it then?” Kakashi asks. “If you had the choice?”

“Introduction classes for muggleborns and their families the summer before they start school,” she answers without hesitation. This is something she’s spent time thinking about. “Mandatory classes about the regular society, that are better done than what we had. Family days when non magical families can visit the school and see where their children and siblings are living, and meet their teachers. A phone at school so non-magical parents can reach it faster.” She pauses to shrug. “Do you want me to go on?”

“I think I get the picture,” Kakashi answers, but it’s flat. Before Hermione’s eyes, he’s fading away. A minute ago he was invested in the conversation, now his eyes are glazing over and his eyebrows draw together.

“Where did you disappear to?” Hermione asks when it’s clear Kakashi doesn’t intent to go on. His eyes snap back to her momentarily before his focus returns to the empty air.

“I’m thinking,” Kakashi says slowly, just as Hermione is beginning to accept the fact that he won’t respond, “that it’s people like you who should be in charge. Who has clear ideas for how to make things better.” Pausing to swallow, Kakashi crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a faraway quality to his voice when he continues. “Instead they choose people like me; who has no clue but has a known name and are powerful on the battlefield, and…” he trails off, and Hermione can see a variety of unspoken endings.

They’re sitting close enough that it’s easy for Hermione to hook her arm around Kakashi’s. Sliding up to his side she puts her head on his shoulder. The bone digs into her cheek, sharp even through layers of clothes, but it’s the closest thing to a hug she can manage. This thing, Kakashi becoming Hokage, feels significant. With Jón saying Kakashi’s having some kind of stress reaction, Hermione would be prepared to bet a significant amount of money on the upcoming duty being one of the more direct causes. “You want to do right by them,” she tells him, “that’s the important part.” Some kind of movement transfers through Kakashi’s shoulder, but Hermione isn’t in a position to see what it was. “I think,” she continues, “the risk with people like me thinking they have the solutions, is they forget to listen to others. And no one knows best on their own. So, you might be the better choice, in the end. Just talk to people. Let them help you.”

“Who?” Kakashi’s voice comes out grainy, and he clears his throat. “What people?” Looking down, Hermione can see his fingers gripping the cuffs of his jacket. She takes a careful breath.

 “Your friends,” she says, “from what I’ve gathered Naruto, Sakura, and Tsunade probably have ideas and should want to help. Gai. _Me._ ”

“You won’t even be there.” The words are a barb, but a fair one.

“Well,” Hermione answers, “maybe not. But we can plan beforehand, work something out so you know what to do. Just like you did for me when I was terrified of being found.” Lifting her head Hermione sees Kakashi’s profile as he watches the rising sun. He’s close enough that she can detect the flexing cheek muscles outlined behind the mask. “I’m good at planning,” she tells him and squeezes his arm. “You don’t have to figure everything out on your own. I might not be there for the execution, but I could still help.”

“I wouldn’t even know where we’d start.” Kakashi speaks to the horizon, his tone level.

“I’ll come up with a strategy then.” Hermione reaches out with her free hand, telegraphing the motion. She lets a single finger rest lightly against the far side of Kakashi’s chin, giving it a cautious pull. Following her direction he turns to her, but his eyes are closed and his face wiped blank. “You don’t have to do it alone,” she says. “Let us help you. Please.”

Not a muscle moves in Kakashi’s face, but tears spring into existence in the corners of his eyes and follow the line of his nose before disappearing in the fabric covering his face. He swallows. Hermione wants nothing more in that moment than to relieve the ache that is palpable enough to settle in her own throat. She’s not sure what it is, but probably a mix of several emotions.

“Deal?” she asks him, the word thick and heavy on her tongue.

Kakashi nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but this was just where the scene ended. I tried to make it go on, but it refused. Let me know what you think!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I love you all, and I really appreciate you writing me with your own experiences and ideas. You rock! Now, let’s get to it.

“Mum.” Hermione knows her interjection won’t matter, her mother’s on a roll and won’t be stopped by anything short of nuclear disaster or Hermione hanging up on her.

“I’m just saying, honey, that you take on too much. He isn’t your responsibility.”

Closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath doesn’t help Hermione much. She leans back against the barn wall. “Yeah,” she says, “you’ve already said that. _And_ Kristín did as well, so I’ve already heard it.”

“Well, you’ve only known him for a few months. No one would think less of you if you didn’t want to do this.” Hermione bites down on her tongue. “I’m just worried,” her mother continues, “you’ve been through so much already. You don’t need another thing dragging you down.”

“He’s not dragging me down,” Hermione answers. “He’s my friend, and friends are there for each other. That’s what you do when you care about someone.” Loosening her grip on the phone, Hermione begins scraping a hole in the gravel with her booted toes. It’s hard work, the ground toughened by years of use, but she needs to do something or she’s going to scream into the phone.

“You’ve got so much going for you.” Hermione kicks at a small stone until it comes loose. “Why don’t you find yourself a healthy boyfriend instead? Someone you can have fun with?” The hole gets forgotten.

“Seriously?” Hermione says, louder than necessary yet not loud enough. She paces the length of the barn. “Are you listening to me at all? For one; he’s not my boyfriend.” She takes a breath. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend. And if I were, I would want someone who understands me and who I could talk to, not just some happy-go-lucky guy that fits your plan of a perfect Instagram life.” It’s not that fun isn’t on Hermione’s list of things she wants in a future life partner, of course she wants someone she can laugh with, but it’s not at the top and it’s definitely not enough on its own.

“You need to relax a little honey, stop thinking so much.” Hermione takes a slow breath. They’ve had this discussion far too many times by now. She knows she’s overly controlled, but she hasn’t been able to change that. “Maybe you _should_ sleep with him,” her mum continues. “It might do both of you some good.”

“Mum!”

Hermione’s last exclamation did nothing to stop her mother, and neither does this one. “What?” the woman says, “it’s relaxing, and you’re just so restrained all the time. Take a chance and see what happens.” Hermione stops to press her forehead against the cold whitewashed wall.

“Jesus. So first I should cut it off, now I should sleep with him?” She’s beginning to wish she’s called someone else. This is doing nothing to make her feel better. The opposite in fact. “Can we just _not_ talk about this?”

“Well, you called me for advice.”

“I called you,” Hermione clarifies, “because I needed someone to talk to.”

“That does imply I should give my opinion. This is my opinion.”

Hermione wonders when her mother changed, if that’s what happened. Growing up her mother had always been a great support and the first one Hermione would reach out to when things got rough. Now, she just steamrolls ahead in a way that makes Hermione feel worse as often as it makes her feel better. Her father had implied some time ago that his wife, for all her good sides, had always been opinionated and bad at listening, and that Hermione was now merely finding her own ways.

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Hermione is done with this conversation. It’s not like it’s getting anywhere. Next time, she’ll call someone else. Although her dad is usually uncomfortable around subjects like this, and she’s reluctant to talk about Kakashi’s breakdown with her friends. Not because they’d judge, or think less of him in any way, but because Hermione knows Kakashi’d balk at the idea of people knowing. There’s no telling Harry without Ginny knowing, or the other way around. After that, and given a little time, most of their circle of close-knit friends would know the general situation. Including Ron. Her mother had seemed like the isolated, trustworthy choice, but while Hermione knows she’d never betray her trust, this hasn’t exactly been productive.

Hanging up the phone, Hermione wishes she could talk to Kakashi about the call but well… Given the topic she’ll just have to process it on her own. Maybe she can talk to her dad instead tomorrow. He’ll offer no advice, but at least he’ll listen.

.oOo.

Hermione never demands an answer so much as tells Kakashi it's high time to book tickets. He should say no. Spending over a week with Hermione's family and friends sounds like a terrible idea. Close to torture, after Ginny heard he might be coming and promptly invited him to the wedding. Only the option is to stay here and wave Hermione off. To go back to Heimstaðir and a bedroom he hasn't slept in for months. Alone. Wondering what Hermione's doing in that moment. 

He should say no. It's simple really. Two letters, one syllable: No. But he can't make himself. Instead, he sits down by the kitchen table with Hermione and tries to figure out the optimal travel plans.

.oOo.

Þorir drops by on Friday afternoon, probably because Hermione ratted Kakashi out to his hosts about Jón and his doctor teaming up and telling him to stay off work for three more weeks. It’s a ridiculous thing. Kakashi might not be able to do much but move around the house, but surely, he can’t need three more weeks. He needs to shape up and get back to work, not be told that it’s okay to be useless. Unfortunately, Hermione told Sunna and Þorir, but it’s not like either of them can stop him from going out on Monday. They will all be at their own workplaces after all.

The Icelander is a broad man, with a red beard that accentuates his chin movements as he speaks. Not that he does at the moment, speak that is, as he watches Kakashi over the rim of his mug. It feels strange to see him in Hermione’s kitchen.

“How are you doing,” Þorir asks in the end.

Kakashi shrugs, looks out the widow towards the cowshed where Hermione is. This might have been less awkward with her around. “Fine,” he says.

“After Hermione called last night, me and Sunna had a talk.” Þorir clears his throat, scratches his beard. “We feel like you should know the arrangement we made with your boss.” A chill spreads from Kakashi’s abdomen out to his limbs. He contains a shiver and turns to tell Þorir it’s alright, he’ll be back at work on Monday no matter what. Before he can speak, the other man continues. “Your boss,” he says, “asked us, in the event that you’d be unable to work, if she could pay us for room and board, and to find someone local to take over your job.”

Opening his mouth to answer, Kakashi can’t find a single word. Þorir folds his lips into a smile and sips his tea. “Sunede?” Þorir starts, and Kakashi corrects him, his voice hoarse. “Tsunade?” Kakashi nods, “told us from the start that she had a soldier who had had a rough time and who needed some time off, and that she didn’t know what would happen once you got it.” Kakashi closes his eyes and swallows back the tight burning sensation rising in his chest. “She wanted to know that, for the time of our arrangement, you’d have a safe place here regardless. Which you have. I know you’re not technically living with us at the moment, and that’s alright, but there’s a room for you if you want it. No strings attached.”

There’s no way to begin processing what Þorir is saying. Kakashi feels like he can’t breathe, and everything’s on fire, and Þorir is _right there_ , probably watching him. Forcing down a lungful of air Kakashi reaches for his voice. He wants to say he’d prefer some time alone to think, if Þorir is done; but it’s too many words. Impossible. “Go,” he says instead, tacking on a, “please,” while he can.

There’s the sound of a chair against the floor, tea being poured out, and then a presence stopping at Kakashi’s side. He knows without looking about the hand that lands on his shoulder before it touches him. Is still aware enough of his surroundings for that. Reigns in any reaction. Þorir’s touch is nothing like Hermione’s. It’s tense, itching, weird. “Let us know if you need anything.” The hand goes away. Finally.

The second the door closes Kakashi can no longer contain the tears. He is _so_ tired of crying.

Kakashi must be losing time, because Hermione steps through the front door much sooner than she should, calling out to him. Going to meet her isn’t a conscious choice so much as a knee-jerk reaction. She hasn’t gotten further than stepping out of her rubber boots and shrugging out of her jacket, but she turns to Kakashi as he walks into the hallway. Drops her jacket on the floor. Wraps her arms around him as he steps in close. “I heard,” she says, low and cool in his ear, “Þorir came out to get me, he told me.”

The smell of cows is sharp in the shirt beneath Kakashi’s face, and it’s not exactly pleasant but it’s preferable to the alternative. He doesn’t want Hermione to leave, not right now. There’s the possibility his legs wouldn’t carry him on their own. “You were right,” he tells her, the words chopped up and wet from crying.

“Yeah,” Hermione agrees, and Kakashi can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m good that way.”

“I could still be right as well,” Kakashi argues. Just because Tsunade had known (and isn’t that a paralyzing thing to think about later) it doesn’t mean she didn’t also want him gone to protect the village from him becoming Hokage.

Lucky for Kakashi, Hermione understands what he’s getting at. She hums. “True,” she begins, “but if she wanted to keep you from getting the hat I doubt she’s have gone out of her way to give you the conditions to get better. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just watch you crash and burn at home? No offence, but pushing you over the edge wouldn’t have been hard for someone who knew what they were doing.”

Kakashi has no idea what to say to that, so he keeps quiet. There’s a lot of things left to consider. Like; if Tsunade saw, who else did? And what is she thinking about it all? Not to mention the fact that she can still be wrong. Naming Kakashi Hokage can still be a disastrous decision. People have been wrong before. Yet, despite all of that, Hermione does have a point. Tsunade could have torn him apart at home without breaking a sweat.

The sobbing is tapering out as the crying changes. Kakashi didn’t know there were so many different types of crying besides the sad, the happy, and the hurt. There’s hurt in here, still, as is there sadness, but there’s also something else. A cool, tranquil feeling that flows like balm over the sore parts. He hesitates to try and name it.

The hug is allowed to last until the last tears are drying out and Kakashi feels like he can stand on his own. Hermione guides him to the couch then, before going to shower. She hasn’t been gone more than a few minutes before an emptiness settles in Kakashi’s chest, echoing the rhythm of his heart. He’s beat. An unbelievable, disarming, all-consuming exhaustion that leaves him feeling raw and vulnerable. His tear ducts start malfunctioning, releasing fluid down his cheeks that is completely unrelated to everything else. Leaning his head back against the backrest Kakashi leaves them be, they’re far less embarrassing than the snotty, messy sobbing he’s already done in Hermione’s presence enough times over the last week. 

A wrinkle appears between Hermione’s eyebrows as Kakashi turns to watch her cross the living room. Her wet hair is leaving dark patches of water on her light grey sweater. She sits down to lean against him without a word. “I can’t seem to stop crying,” Kakashi tells her.

“Is there a reason you need to?” Hermione’s question makes Kakashi shrug. He has no idea. Shinobi doesn’t show tears, but he’s shown her so many by now it hardly matters any more. “Maybe you’ve just got a lot of saved up tears that need to get out,” Hermione suggests when Kakashi doesn’t speak.

He closes his eyes and gives it some thought. Remembers after Rin. The wildly raging fire inside him. The nausea. The urge to scream. He’d made Gai challenge him to a fight then, had suggested that they make it taijutsu only, because he never wanted to win. When he’d been too bruised and tired to get back to his feet Gai had dragged him home. There had been a look on his face when he dropped him off, like Gai wanted to say something, but Kakashi had closed his door before he had the chance.

It had pretty much repeated itself after Minato, and a few other nameless days when Kakashi had felt the echoes of those feelings. Crying, on the other hand, is something he has little recollection of.

“I could fall asleep now,” Kakashi tells Hermione.

“So go to bed, I don’t have to hang out in the living room.” Hermione’s suggestion is reasonable, but Kakashi doesn’t want to leave. Sitting here, with her at his side, the unusual emptiness in his chest is lessening. He doesn’t particularly want it back.

“It’s too early,” he says. “You feel like watching a movie?”

Hermione picks something that’s stupid. That’s about all that Kakashi gets. They eat sandwiches in front of it and afterwards he keeps nodding off, then twitching awake with an effort to keep up with the plot. “Seriously,” Hermione tells him maybe the fifth time, “you should go to bed.”

“We’ve got half the movie left,” Kakashi says. Going to bed would mean the chill from the Hermione-free side of his body would get the chance to spread. He doesn’t want that.

The movie pauses. “What’s the real reason?” Hermione asks. She’s leaned away from him to reach the computer and is now resolutely meeting his eyes. Kakashi steels himself to not look away.

“I told you,” he says, “it’s not even eight o’clock, we’ve got half a movie left.” Hermione looks unimpressed.

“I’m thinking we can finish it another time.” Reaching for the computer, Hermione makes a move to stand. Kakashi grabs her arm. This evening has been overwhelming, not to mention the whole week’s been a disaster. Now he’s supposed to come to terms with Tsunade sending him here for this exact reason, Sunna and Þorir knowing, _and_ figure out how to feel about it all.

 “Don’t go.” It’s the complete opposite of what he said to Þorir, and yet exactly the same. The same pleading breaking voice that Kakashi despises hearing from his own lips. But there’s a cavern inside Kakashi that feels less desolate when Hermione is here, and he can’t bear to lose that comfort. Not yet. Another hour of sitting here watching a movie and he might be able to have it padded enough that he won’t feel it so acutely once he goes to bed.

“Why?” Hermione asks, her face soft. She twists her arm around in Kakashi’s grip and take a twin hold of his underarm, aligning their wrists.

She knows, he can see it in her eyes, and yet she asks. Kakashi can’t figure out the reason, it seems like torture and nothing else. Closing his eyes, he takes a steadying breath. Tries to decide whether to continue or not. “I don’t want to be alone,” he confesses in the end. Because she already knows. Because she’s already seen him weak. Because she needs to know he trusts her. The words still feel like broken glass in his throat. Hermione’s free hand comes up to rest at his neck.

“What if you wouldn’t have to choose?” Hermione asks, and Kakashi doesn’t dare to try and interpret those words. “I’ve got a four-foot bed, we can both fit.” Pink tinges Hermione’s ears and she presses her lips together.

“I’d be imposing.” Kakashi can’t meet her eyes as he says it. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She’s done too much already, he can’t allow her to sacrifice this as well.

“Are you kidding me?” Hermione squeezes Kakashi’s arm. “I couldn’t imagine anything better. Damn it Kakashi, I appreciate our mornings enough that I sort of feel bad about it because I should want you to be having a good day and be up and about when I come in.” A quick glance shows a smile on her face, reaching her eyes. “Just sleeping, promise, and if either of us change our minds there’s an empty bed in the living room. Could we _not_ make it complicated?”

Kakashi blinks. Remembers mornings curled up together in bed and having already learnt to get up and go to the toilet while Hermione is working. To not have to get up a moment sooner than necessary when she’s back.  “Okay,” he gives in, and it comes out hardly stronger than a whisper. When he looks over at Hermione the smile has grown, as has the pink color are now reaching out across her cheeks.

.oOo.

Hermione really, really doesn’t want to go to work. Her alarm wakes her, but she snoozes it without thinking. She’s pressed against Kakashi’s side, their legs tangled up and his arm around her shoulders. Under her palm she can feel the beating of his heart through the thin fabric of his sleeveless shirt. The second alarm comes too fast, and when she starts extricating herself Kakashi mumbles something wordless and drags her in. She closes her eyes for a moment, and returns the hug.

“I know,” she says, “trust me I know, but duty calls.” He lets her go, turns over and burrows down further under the blankets.

There’s a warm and soft ache in Hermione’s chest as she gets ready and goes to work, but she carefully wipes away her smile before meeting Kristín. The woman doesn’t need to see it.

Hopefully, Kakashi won’t be up by the time she gets back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such fluff! It just happened, I swear. I’m completely unapologetic, but also disillusioned enough to know it won’t fix everything. Hugs for everyone!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Music Heals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118742) by [jossiemcg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jossiemcg/pseuds/jossiemcg)




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